


Mastery

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brainwashing, False Memories, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's not the only one who's been brainwashed. He and Avon had been lovers. Orac turns up disturbing evidence of the nature of their relationship-- and a prediction of doom if they can't renew it.</p><p>Avon is a survivor. If he has to seduce, bribe or beat the tar out of Blake in order to avoid the madness and murder awaiting on Gauda Prime, he'll grit his teeth and do it.</p><p>Blake is single-mindedly focused on the rebellion. He doesn't think his personal misery counts, and Avon just irritates him. Mostly. Except that he now remembers just enough to wish things were different between them. He hates to love Avon. Giving in would be a mistake, wouldn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mastery

**Author's Note:**

> (Especially Note: Their relationship is not meant to resemble a healthy D/s or S/M relationship and their negative attitudes towards those types of relationships is a result of Federation programming, intended to destroy their sense of self-worth.)
> 
> The rape is a brainwashing hallucination, but while it has no physical reality, the mental effect is the same, so I considered I'd better warn for it. Neither Blake nor Avon commit rape. The sex scenes between them are all consensual, although motivation for the consent may be mixed with confusing reasons. Blake and Avon are very complicated people.
> 
> Have pity on this bedraggled puppy. Reminded of the existence of this story, which was not on the 'net, but only available in a long out of print zine (Fire and Ice #7), I went looking for it among my computer stuff. I eventually found one outdated version in a CD from 2001 (think the story actually written in 1998?) which was so far from compatible that the auto translate looked like it had been through a paper shredder, followed by a tornado. I literally jigsaw puzzle pieced sentence fragments (sometimes word bits) into paragraphs, paragraphs into scenes, scenes into plot shape and then rearranged until it finally made sense. Like... four complete waking to sleeping days of obsession. Ow, my mousing hand.
> 
> I THINK it's very similar to the original. I hope it makes sense. It is a product of its era. I did remove a few of the most dated markers of B7 fanfic at the time, but by no means all.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

“I regret to inform you that he is indeed himself,” Avon remarked as Blake strode from the teleport chamber, intent on causing Federation mayhem.

“No, he is not,” Cally said. “I sense that he is still deeply disturbed.”

Avon rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Of course he is still disturbed. It doesn’t require psychic insight to tell that. His deprogramming has barely begun.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Jenna said. She shook her head wearily. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

“But you will do it, won’t you?” Avon pressed. “In his right mind, whatever that might be, he’s rather cavalier with our lives. In his present condition, he’s actively dangerous to us. He obviously doesn’t even remember the past few days. The therapy must recommence immediately, with him under constant restraint, and reliable guard.” Here he turned his glare on Vila.

Vila squirmed. “It wasn’t my fault. He said... well, Blake said that you and Cally were... um. Anyway, how was I to know Blake was lying to me?”

Avon said, sneering, “His lips were moving.”

“Avon!” Jenna and Cally protested in unison.

"All right," Vila said, to break the hostile atmosphere before anything more violent than dirty looks was thrown. "So, we finish the deprogramming."

“But first we have to get out of here,” Jenna said. “In case you’ve forgotten, there are Federation troops down on Atlay.”

“And where there are Federation troops, there are Federation troopships.” Avon said, as he and the others followed Jenna back to the flight deck at a near run.

Blake was standing in his usual position when they arrived. He was staring, seemingly mesmerized, at the planet on the viewscreen. “Zen says this is Atlay. What are we doing here? ” Blake sounded outraged. “Who changed our course?”

“You did,” Avon said, as he went to the force wall controls, having to pass very close to Blake. Blake whirled and grabbed Avon by the shoulders. Avon stood perfectly still, head held high, and met Blake’s glare with one of his own.

"No, I didn’t. What are you up to, Avon?” Blake searched Avon’s face. Avon had an eminently readable face, Blake had found. You simply had to understand the language. At the moment, Avon was hiding something from him, but not out of hostility. 

“Yes, you did,” Jenna confirmed, while taking over the manual controls.

Blake stared at Jenna’s stern face. Jenna had never lied to him, but he felt she was quite capable of it, if she thought she was protecting him. Avon prided himself on not lying, and Blake doubted he’d enough practice to fool anyone who really knew him. He turned back to Avon and in that steady regard, he got his answer. After a few seconds, he released Avon, who turned immediately to the force wall controls.  
“Force wall ready,” Avon said, hand hovering over the activation switch.

“Vila, stand by the Neutron Blasters. Cally, are you picking up any Federation transmissions?” Jenna snapped. 

Blake glanced around the flight deck. Everyone was serious, but no one would meet his eyes. “I’ll want an explanation later.” And it had better be a good one.

Cally looked at him. “Yes, Blake. We will explain it all to you later.”

 

Fortunately, the Federation hadn’t been expecting the Liberator. The few ships that attempted to interdict her passage gave ground after a brief demonstration of her firepower. At Standard by Eight, Liberator was safely out of range in minutes. 

“You can take over now, Zen,” Jenna said, loosening her grip on the controls. 

"Course?" the ship’s computer asked.

Jenna looked at Blake. “Del 10. Standard by Three. We’re in no hurry.” 

"Confirmed."

Vila brightened, but Blake scowled. “In case you’ve forgotten, we have a revolution to run.” He had not overruled Jenna, but he disliked the sense of - well, he wouldn’t call it power- slipping from his hands. He was their leader. Without him, they wouldn’t stay a crew.

Jenna shook her head. “Not now, Blake.” Her mouth tightened. “We aren’t in shape for it.”

“Correction,” Avon put in, “You aren’t in shape for it, Blake.” He stepped away from the force wall, hands held loosely behind his back, and approached Blake. “I had a feeling you hadn’t the guts to tell him, Jenna.”

Jenna flushed, but kept silent.

Blake looked at Avon, then glanced at Jenna and Cally who were both looking uncomfortable. Vila ducked his head as Blake’s gaze passed over him. They were all embarrassed- about betraying him, perhaps? He had been pushing them hard of late, and since Gan’s death... They might have had second thoughts about his leadership. Avon could be very honey-tongued when he wanted to exert the effort, and he certainly would if he thought it would gain him control of Liberator. “I see. Avon’s decided not to wait any longer before making his play. What has he offered you? Wealth, safety?”

“It is not like that,” Cally said. “Avon is concerned about you. As are we all.”

“Avon?” Blake turned back to Avon. _If you’ve betrayed me, at least have the honesty to say so._ Somehow, he didn’t so much mind the others turning against him. They’d have done it out of concern for their lives, but Avon had always resented Blake’s leadership, always struggled against the bonds that held them together.

Avon frowned. “You have been programmed,” he said flatly. “We were at Atlay because you ordered us there. On the orders of the Federation. The transmitter controlling your actions has been destroyed, but I don’t imagine it is the only one. None of us is safe until you are deprogrammed.”

“No. No, Avon, it isn’t true! It isn’t!” Abruptly, Blake sat down on the flight deck couch, holding his head. _It isn’t. It can’t be. Something in my life must be real!_

“Do you hear the tone?” Cally asked, concerned.

“Tone?” Blake muttered. He wasn’t really listening to her. His head ached too much. False images, false dreams, false friends. _Is nothing mine?_

“An oscillating tone,” Avon said. He moved close, and put his hands on Blake’s shoulders. “It was the trigger signal. Do you hear it?”

“No,” Blake groaned. “No, it isn’t true, it isn’t.” Jagged lances of pain burst in his skull, and his vision darkened to red-laced black. Blake sagged suddenly against Avon who was hard pressed to keep the larger man from tumbling to the deck.

Avon looked down at the unconscious form of Liberator’s leader and said, “That went better than I expected.” He stood up and grabbed Blake under the shoulders. “Vila, get his feet.”

Reluctantly, Vila obeyed. “Where are we taking him?”

“Medical unit,” Avon said. Cally shook her head, and Avon’s stare went icy. “Or would you rather I gently tucked him into his own bed, to await the Federation’s call? Next time, they might just have him kill us instead of locking us up.”

“They could not make Blake do that,” Cally said. “His will is too strong.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed. Vila, watch that console,” Avon directed. “To the medical unit!”

Jenna said, “Avon’s right, this time, Cally. We can’t trust Blake.” 

“I think we can. He is very strong, Jenna.”

“That’s the problem. We can’t take any chances with him.” Jenna sighed. “Come on. I’ll need you to help me get Orac from the teleport room.” The two women walked out, leaving Zen in charge of the ship.

***

“RENOUNCE! RENOUNCE!” Blake shouted, eyes pressed shut and sweat pouring down his face. _I must. I must renounce. My cause is wrong. My friends are betrayers. No! No, they’re not. He’s not._ Vivid images filled Blake’s mind, and he suddenly knew what had hurt the most, who had most betrayed him. He knew and he wished he had never remembered.

"Renounce the Federation, Blake. The Federation has lied to you, has murdered your friends and family. It is the Federation you must renounce." Orac droned on, its electronic voice never wavering. "That is enough for this session," Orac announced.

“Thank God,” Jenna said, weakly. Cally helped her sit up while Avon attended to Blake. 

Avon removed the electrodes from Blake’s temples.“Drink this,” he said, holding a glass of green liquid to Blake’s mouth. Blake’s eyes opened, and he turned his head aside, tightening his lips in refusal. “It’s only a vitamin solution,” Avon explained. “You are dehydrated. I will not drug you without your knowledge.”

“But you will do it against my wishes.” Blake's voice was reduced to a rasping, raw croak, but his glare had plenty of energy. _Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me._

Avon put the glass down on the nearby table. “Yes. At the moment, I don’t know whether I’m talking to Roj Blake, the rebel or Roj Blake, the Federation puppet.”

“Release me,” Blake said, pulling at the thick straps holding him down in a half-reclining position. _I won’t be trapped again. He remembered the conditioning - straps just like these, a cold, white room just like this, and men with cold, unfeeling expressions just like Avon’s hovering over him._

“Not on your life.” Avon grinned. “For once I have you right where I want you.”

Blake screamed, a bellow of purest rage and began thrashing wildly. _No! Never again!_

Avon stepped back, astonished, as Cally rushed over with a tranquilizer pad. Blake flung his head from side to side, avoiding the pad, but his eyes were on Avon, not Cally. “I’ll never take orders from you, Avon! Never again! Do you hear me, never!” 

Cally finally succeeded in pressing the pad to Blake’s head, quieting him in seconds, and turned to Avon. “Why do you persist in goading him?” she demanded, furious.

Avon spread his hands. “I hadn’t expected quite that reaction.”

Jenna got to her feet with an effort. “I’m too tired for this. Just leave Blake alone,” she told Avon. “I’m going to my quarters to rest.”

“I will help you, Jenna,” Cally said, putting her arm around Jenna’s waist. Just before they reached the door, Jenna pulled around to say to Avon, “I mean it. Leave him alone.”

Avon cocked his head, and replied, “Of course, Jenna.” As soon as they were gone, he moved over to Blake, and stood over the unconscious man, studying that broad, strong face, puzzling over the still grimly set countenance. He shook his head. “Again? An accidental choice of words? No, it was deliberate. Perhaps you are confusing me with someone in your past? An interrogator?” Avon scowled. “I could find that insulting. Still, the alternative is no more palatable. Do you believe I have given you orders in the past? I cannot see why the Federation would instill such an ludicrous fantasy in your overheated brain. I met you on the London, when you were already a well-versed demagogue, unsurpassed leader of men and totally incapable of listening to reason, far less orders, from me. I don’t like this.” Avon went to the intership communicator on the nearest wall and slapped it on. “Vila!”

“What?” came the sleepy reply.

“Come to the medical unit. I want you to watch Blake.”

“Er. Um. Are you sure? You know what happened last time.”

“I assume you possess a rudimentary survival sense. Exercise it this time. Watch Blake. He’s sedated, and restrained. If I return and find either of those conditions changed, you will deeply regret it.”

Vila grumbled, but he came. He entered the medical unit. Avon picked up Orac and started past Vila. “Hey, where are you taking Orac? Doesn’t Blake need... ” Vila forgot what he was saying as he met Avon’s eyes.

“I have some questions for Orac.” Avon settled the computer into a more comfortable carrying position. “I mean it, Vila. Don’t wake Blake. He has been- violent.”

Vila shied away from Blake’s recliner. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Of course you weren’t.” 

“That’s right, I wasn’t.” Vila muttered once Avon was safely out of earshot.

***

Avon made it to his own quarters without encountering Jenna or Cally, which was just as well, as he didn't think either of them would be as easily distracted as Vila. He set the computer down on his desk and slid its key in place. Orac groaned its way to life. "Orac, you've been wading in Fearless Leader's subconscious. Tell me what you've dredged up."

"You will have to be more specific."

“Blake apparently believes we knew each other before our expulsion from Earth. More specifically, he is laboring under the misapprehension that at one time I was in a position of some authority over him. Why would the Federation instill that in Blake, when neither he nor I had even met at the time? It doesn’t make sense.”

Orac was silent. 

“Well?”

"As you know, ‘well’ is not a question."

“You’re evading, Orac. Answer the question.”

"Hrumph. The Fed did not."

“The Federation did not what? Orac!” Avon was sensitive to the computer’s ‘moods’. When Orac was this reluctant to answer, there generally was a reason.

"Very well, if you insist. As the programming erodes, Blake recalls more of his past. According to Roj Blake’s true memories, which are confirmed by independent evidence, you and he were well acquainted. In fact, you were often in each other’s company during the two year interval between Blake’s first trial and his second."

“But we never met,” Avon protested. Then his face went entirely still, as he digested an unpalatable datum. “At least, I don’t recall our having met. Why don’t I remember?”

"I have not had the opportunity to assess your mental state."

“I’ve been programmed, too?” Avon shuddered in revulsion. “No, I refuse to believe it. Blake is fantasizing under the influence of drugs and your electronic persuasion. He believes it to be real, and so you accept his belief. I’m no mind-wiped idiot, like Blake. I haven’t any memory lapses.”

"Memory revision and personality alteration takes many forms. The one commonality is the subject’s absolute conviction that he has not been programmed."

“But I wasn’t! ” 

"Blake’s memory is accurate on this score, and yours is not. There is evidence."

“What evidence?”

"It might be wiser if you did not..."

“What evidence!”

" There is a vis-tape."

“Show it, Orac."

"It is unnecessary. I have already extracted all the meaningful data from it."

"Do you require persuasion?" Avon was becoming very annoyed. Sometimes he thought Orac was lazy, but mostly he thought it just liked to irritate people.

The computer’s hum muted for a few seconds, then it said, "I will do as you request. Direct your attention to the monitor."

Avon pushed Orac slightly to one side so that he could see the inset monitor in his desk. An image flickered, and brightened, filling the screen.

"I apologize for the quality of the vis-tape. As you will see, it was not professionally produced."

“Shut up, Orac,” Avon said, his attention captured by the vis-tape. It was an interior view. He wasn’t sure exactly where it was taken, but it felt vaguely Earth-like. Something about the proportions of the room screamed ‘Dome’ to him. He couldn’t make out much of the surroundings as a swirl of people filled the room. A woman filled the screen. She was dressed in an elaborate, old-fashioned gown with ruffles and flounces that matched her beribboned hat, and the long, crooked staff she carried in one hand. She carried a wineglass in the other, and chatted with a man dressed in a heavy black robe. Perhaps it was a masquerade party. Those had been popular from time to time. Avon vaguely recalled attending a few in his younger days. The woman tilted her head back, apparently laughing at a comment the black-robed man had made. When she moved, she gave Avon a glimpse of her companion. It was himself. Avon sat forward, staring at the screen. He was quite sure he did not recall this woman, although she was not a woman a man would forget- particular not in that off-the-bosom gown.

“Sound, Orac. I want to hear it.”

The sound came up and Avon heard himself saying, “Ah, but I thought it was supposed to be a lamb.”

“Oh, my boy’s a sweet, little lamb.” The woman gestured with her staff, and the ribbon tied to it tightened, pulling the object at the other end further forward. “Aren’t you, pet?” she asked, putting her hand out to one side, without glancing in that direction. A furry white head pushed beneath her hand, and a wet tongue licked out to caress her palm. She giggled. “Go and get me a drink, lamby,” she said.

Avon stared as the furry white head rose, and a very human face appeared under the woolly head-dress. “Yes, mistress,” the man in the lamb costume replied, humbly, before trotting across the room.

The woman looked to Avon’s right, the side which was away from the camera. Barely visible was a large, black-leather shrouded figure.“Yours is quite nice, too,” she remarked, looking slowly up and down, apparently quite experienced at judging hidden physiques. “He has lovely feet. But what exactly, has he come as?”

Avon’s reply was lazy and smoky with undisguised lust. “My shadow.”

She seemed puzzled. “I’ve never heard of that nursery rhyme.”

“I have a little shadow. It goes in and out with me. And what is the use of it, I shall never see, ” Avon quoted. “You see, he’s very willing, but when it comes right down to it... well, he does try.”

“Perhaps he just needs a woman’s touch?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve been training him for a year. I should hate to confuse him. After all, he’s not terribly bright.”

The woman put one silk-gloved hand lightly against Avon’s chest. “Well, of course, you’d be supervising. I find a change of pace is sometimes quite stimulating to the intellect.”

“Yes, there is that,” Avon murmured, before taking the woman’s mouth in a deep, long kiss, his hands tangling in the ribbons flowing down her back. After a long moment, he pulled back slightly, and said, “What is my lady’s pleasure?”

“We could try Mistress Anya’s trained Warg-strangler. It’s been de-fanged,” she hurried to add, when Avon did not respond. “Then again, I enjoy watching a master at work,” she confessed. She glanced again at Avon’s companion.“He looks as though he needs a great deal of discipline.”

Avon’s grin widened. “He does, at that. Don’t you, slave?”

“Yes, master,” came the immediate humble reply. For a slave, he had a deep, resonant voice.

Avon’s head jerked and he said, harshly, “Freeze the image.” Orac obeyed. “That’s Blake.”  
"It is."

“This is absurd. Neither I nor Blake are sexually aberrant. This is of a piece with the Federation’s trumped-up molestation charges against Blake. I refuse to watch any more.”

"Very well. Return me to the medical unit, and I will resume monitoring Blake’s condition."

Avon stood up and put his hands on the computer, then he paused. “Has Blake seen this vis-cast?”

"It is possible."

“And he believes it.”

"Is that a question?"

Avon scowled. “I will not know what he thinks I’ve done to him unless I view it.” And add the name of voyeur to all my other failings.

"There is an alternative method of ascertaining the truth. If you were to undergo dual mode therapy with Blake..."

Avon scowled. He was quite sure he hadn’t been programmed and even if he had, Blake would have been the last person whose memories he'd care to share.

“Why are you suddenly so eager for me to do this? You insisted that Jenna was the one best suited -closest - to Blake.”

"That was predicated on my original order to clear Blake’s programming to the limited extent necessary to eradicate the tone-pulse trigger. If dual-mode therapy is conducted between two programmed individuals the safety parameters will be greatly reduced, as either subject’s false memories could ..."

“I have not been programmed!” Avon drummed his fingers on top of Orac’s case. His expression turned thoughtful. “You are attempting to manipulate me into this, Orac. Why?” 

Orac buzzed and hummed, the electronic equivalent of ‘er’ and ‘um’. Finally it said, "It was a matter of some minor curiosity to me to determine the outcome of the interpersonal strife between the members of the Liberator’s crew."

“Oh?”

"Vila proposed a wager, concerning the inevitable outbreak of active hostility between you and Blake. As he put it ‘half his money would be on Blake. And the other half on Avon’. This was not logical, as there would be no possibility of gain."

“That sounds like Vila.”

"If I may continue! I considered it a mildly interesting exercise in prediction based upon human reactions, which, while they may appear wildly variable are in fact easily discerned from a thorough knowledge of personality and environment."

“Fine. So you know which of us will win when the ultimate showdown occurs. I recall how misleading your last prediction was. Undoubtedly, if I ask you, you’ll tell me the truth in such a way that it might as well be a lie.”

"No. I can show you a future which will occur if you do not undergo therapy with Blake. It is quite clear and unambiguous."

“I take it Blake wins.”

"No."

“Then I win.” Avon smiled.

"No."

Avon’s smile faded. “What then, do we shake hands and agree to disagree like gentlemen?”

"No."

“I could become very annoyed with you, Orac. You are being deliberately obtuse.”

"On the contrary, I am being as clear as you will permit. If you would only allow me to show you!”

Avon toyed with Orac’s key, considering simply turning off the annoying box. The problem was, his curiosity was aroused. It did seem wasteful to ignore one of Orac’s most unique abilities, even though he and Blake had agreed not to use it again. Then again, did he actually agree not to use it,or did he just agree not to upset the others with things they couldn’t change? No matter what Orac showed him, it would still be Avon’s choice whether or not to act upon it, unlike last time, when the entire crew had been panicked. If the information was useful, he would use it. If not, he could set it aside. He was not ruled by his emotions. He could face facts dispassionately. Couldn’t he?

“Show me, Orac,” Avon whispered. A chill went up his spine. He suddenly felt this was a very bad mistake. He clasped his hands together to keep himself from ripping Orac’s key out.

"Observe the monitor." 

The frozen image of the younger Avon and the smiling woman faded. The room on the screen was now some sort of control center, pillars surrounding a sunken area occupied by consoles.

“Sound, Orac,” Avon said quietly. He didn’t like this. The Avon in the image wasn’t that much older than himself, but there were harsh new lines in his face, and his body language was taut with stress. He particularly didn’t like the outfit. It was uncomfortably similar to something that a ‘Master’ would have worn; black leather and cold, silver studs, along with boots that looked made for kicking someone once they were down.

Avon knelt by the side of the injured young man. He said, “I’m glad you made it, Tarrant.”

The young man said, “So am I. Avon, I think he’s here.”

A woman’s voice interrupted them. Avon turned and shot the woman who was calling security.

That was unnecessary, Avon thought. She was unarmed, obviously no combatant, and she had already given the alarm. It would have been much more logical to take her hostage. The sickness in the pit of his stomach grew. Neither Vila nor any of the other companions of this other Avon seemed to think that cold-blooded murder was unusual.

His attention was drawn away from the cluster around the wounded man by the sound of others coming into the control room. A thin girl and a tall, broad-shouldered man in grimy woodsman gear entered. It was Blake, but he had changed. Avon imagined he could smell the man; it was obvious he’d neither bathed, shaved nor changed his garments in weeks. Blake’s face was different, too and it wasn’t just the untended scar that turned one eye into a leer. This man had been hurt, been used and misused until his one-eyed view of the universe was as dark and misanthropic as anything Travis had ever dreamed. Was that why he’d not gotten the scar reduced? Was he telling the universe that he was Travis? 

Tarrant asked, “Is it him?”

And the on-screen Vila replied, “It’s him.”

Avon wanted to shout, “No, you fools. That’s not Blake. Not how he should be,” but he was held by horrified fascination.

“He’s sold us, Avon. All of us- even you.”

Avon winced, seeing the pain those words caused his alter-ego. That Avon was vulnerable, wounded to the quick by the mere thought of betrayal. What the hell had happened to him? If anyone told him Blake had betrayed him, he would have laughed at them, and then quietly checked just in case it was true. This reaction was exaggerated; it told him that life had been too much for one Kerr Avon, and he was just about at the snapping point. 

Avon moved toward Blake, gun hanging at his side as if forgotten. “Is it true?”

What an imbecilic remark. Avon would have been hard pressed to top it, but Blake managed it.

“Avon. It’s me- Blake.”

“Stand still,” Avon said, desperation and panic clear in his voice. “Have you betrayed us? Have you... betrayed me?”

_You idiot, reassure him. Lie, if necessary, you’ve always done that superbly. Can’t you see he’s out of control?_ Avon clenched his fists.

“Tarrant doesn’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

Understatement of the millennia. The man was hanging on to his sanity by his fingernails.

“I set all this up.”

Oh, no. Blake, can’t you see what he’s thinking- what I’m thinking? You always read me so well. 

“Yes!” Avon snapped the gun up; eyes wide and sparkling with madness.

_No. Don’t move, Blake._

Blake stepped forward. “I set all this up...”

Avon fired. Blake’s chest blossomed red; there was blood everywhere. He looked confused, and moved closer. Avon’s gun went off again. Still Blake came forward. He spread his arms and took the third shot at point- blank range. 

Avon pointed the gun at Blake’s head. Blake brushed it aside and grasped Avon’s arms. “Oh, Avon," he said, as if mourning Avon’s pain and then he collapsed at Avon’s feet.

Avon stared blankly at the screen. Blake... There was something highly unnatural about his reactions. How had the man kept on his feet after the first blast? Why didn’t he react to the pain? Why hadn’t he the common sense to stand still? For that matter, why had the armed girl who accompanied Blake done nothing as Avon blew Blake to pieces? 

Alarms rang, and the lighting dulled to blood-red.

The thin girl then killed one of Blake’s people belatedly arriving, and sneered at Avon’s crew, telling them that she was Federation and that Blake couldn’t tell the difference any more. She shot the dark girl, then Vila knocked the thin girl out. 

Avon stood, staring down at Blake’s corpse. Federation troopers poured in. They were slow, but they were also many. One by one Avon’s companions were shot down, but Avon did not react, not until the last one, the tall, young man, cried out Avon’s name as he fell.

Avon blinked. He seemed to wake up, and gave Blake a mild, puzzled look, before his face cleared, as if understanding at last. He carefully stepped astride Blake, and looked at the surrounding troopers. They were silent, and still, as if awaiting his decision. Avon smiled, baring his teeth, and raised his gun. He fired.

And they fired back.

It was most disagreeable watching yourself being killed, particularly as the result of multiple blasts from energy weapons. Epileptic contortions twisted the corpse into a grotesque mockery of the human form before the twitching mass of flesh finally subsided. The scene panned to take in the bodies, closing in on each face before the screen reverted to black.

Avon cleared his throat. “Well, now, that was very entertaining. You have an unsuspected talent for fiction, Orac.”

"That was not fiction. That is what will happen if you do not undergo dual therapy with Blake."

Orac didn’t lie. It could, and did, prevaricate, mislead, and often simply refuse to answer, but it did not lie. The most advanced computer in the galaxy said that he would not only die horribly in the not-so-distant future, but that he would become a raving, murdering lunatic before then- unless he bared his very soul to the one man he could least afford to show vulnerability. 

“Perhaps I should simply leave the Liberator.” 

"That would not affect the validity of the prediction."

“Well, then perhaps I ought to kill Blake now, and have done with it,” Avon said savagely.

"That would not affect the validity of ..."

“Don’t be absurd. If I killed Blake now, I could hardly kill him again in the future, could I?” Orac didn’t answer, which did not necessarily prove the question was rhetorical. “Orac. Answer the question.”

"Obviously you could not kill a dead man, however a clone, or an android, or other simulacra would..."

“Would be enough like Blake to fool an insane man and the same scenario would be enacted.”

"Precisely."

“Are there no other options? Is there any other way of avoiding this future, besides dual mode therapy with Blake?”

"No. Even your suicide would not prevent it."

“Ah. Of course, an android, or a clone of me, could just as readily deceive an insane Blake.” An intelligent man accepts facts, however unpalatable. Letting Blake see inside him was the lesser of two evils, even though Blake would use whatever he learned against him in their constant battle for control. Still, he might gain enough insight into Blake to keep things even. Avon sighed. “I suppose if Jenna can stand it, I can. I’ll take over Blake’s therapy.” 

"That will not be possible. The current therapy must be completed with Jenna first."

“Why?”

"Blake was programmed on two separate levels. It must be removed in the same fashion, and, Avon..."

“Yes?”

"Blake must freely agree to undergo therapy with you. He cannot be coerced, drugged or restrained."

Presumably that was because Blake believed Avon to have been dominating him. Avon still couldn’t believe it, despite Orac’s show. “Well, that’s a method of suicide I hadn’t considered.” Avon had a clear mental image of Blake, in a fit of programming induced rage, picking him up bodily and throwing him across the room. “And how do you suggest I convince him?”

"That, Avon, is entirely up to you."

“Wonderful. Thank you, Orac, you have been as helpful as ever.” He picked up the computer and carried it back to the medical unit.

***

Blake’s deprogramming took weeks. Through it all, Avon held to his determination to be quietly helpful. It wasn’t easy. Doing his tasks and Blake’s, while standing one watch in three - Jenna was too disoriented in between sessions to be much use- was tiring, but he could handle that. The difficult part was maintaining a calm, non-threatening attitude toward Blake, who grew more hostile to him every day.

The tranquilizers kept Blake under control to the extent that Cally thought he could be permitted to rest in his own quarters, so Avon had the task of escorting Blake there and back to the medical unit between treatments. Usually Blake was too groggy to do more than glare, but today he’d managed to knock Avon against a bulkhead. Naturally, Avon had an extra sedative patch handy, but he’d collected some interesting bruises before it took effect.

He’d always known that Blake was quite capable of killing with his bare hands, but he hadn’t realized just how fast the big man was. If it came down to hand-to-hand combat with an undrugged Blake, even fighting dirty wouldn’t save him.

Avon locked Blake in, and went back to the med-unit to patch himself up, then picked up a meal for Blake. He returned, and cautiously announced himself before entering. “It’s Avon. Are you still feeling homicidal?” Yes, he knew that wasn’t exactly sympathetic, but it was about as sympathetic as he could get in his current mood.

“Yes,” Blake replied. “But come in anyway.” _I will not kill Avon. He is invaluable to the rebellion and the rebellion is all I have left. There is nothing left of the Roj Blake who once had a personal life, friends, and family._

Despite the words, Avon fancied he heard regret. Well, perhaps not regret, but at least Blake was calm.

“All right,” Avon said. He entered, and set the food-tray down on the desk. “I’ll just leave it here.” 

Blake lay back on his bed, giving Avon a cold stare. “Avon.” _Avon, you are so transparent. You are afraid of me. Afraid of what I will say and do. I owe you nothing, but I can pity even you. I will end the suspense._

“Yes.” 

“I remember.” 

“Remember what?” Avon said cautiously.

_Bastard. Pretend you don’t know. All right, I’ll spell it out._ “You. Me. Us.” Blake’s face twisted in disgust. “The things we did. The things you did to me. How could you sit on that flight deck day after day, and never let on?”

Avon was acutely uncomfortable, but this was his chance to explain. He couldn’t waste the opportunity. “I didn’t know. I still don’t.” At Blake’s disbelieving stare, he added, “Orac told me that we had ... known each other, but I don’t recall it."

Blake sat up abruptly, and Avon backed toward the door. _Good. Be frightened of me. Be very frightened. It is the least you deserve._ “I don’t believe you. I think you knew all along. I should have guessed from the way you always sneered at my assumption of leadership. You were thinking of me, naked and servile, begging for abuse."

“No. Blake, I swear it. As far as I knew we met on the London. I couldn’t believe it when Orac showed me...”

“What did Orac show you? Vids you’d made for your entertainment? I remember them, too. Have you shown them to the others, yet?” No, that you’d never do. Could you see the others following him if they knew? No more than they would follow me,if they knew. He will have to keep silent to protect himself.

“No! No one has seen them. I saw only a few minutes, myself. As soon as I realized what it was, I stopped."

“And you expect me to believe that? I know you, Avon. You loved dominating me, humiliating me, using me for your own sick, perverted pleasures. You reveled in it. Rolled in it, like a dog in carrion. You haven’t changed. Maybe you don’t dare do it any more, but you still want to.” Avon’s face was already pale as print-out, but his pupils dilated as if shocked. Maybe Avon didn’t want to do it anymore. That made it worse. If Avon had purged himself of the sickness while Blake was still racked with unnatural desires then Avon was the stronger man.

As Avon secretly wondered if he harbored such urges, he snapped back, “Oh, and I suppose you were forced into it? Look at the two of us, Blake. Can you honestly say that I overpowered you? That I raped you? In anything we did, you were a more than willing participant.”

_Yes, yes I was. Even imagining it arouses me. You in your leathers, so confident, so very much a man. It was as if you were showing me what I had lost, and I was so weak that I adored you for it, for showing me that not everyone was part of the Federation’s bland, homogenized unity._ Blake’s head ducked down,and his voice lowered. “No. That’s the worst part. That I wanted it. And worst of all, I still...” Blake broke off, and looked up at Avon. “Don’t let that go to your head, Avon. I’ve gotten very good at doing what I must, and not what I want. You are valuable to the cause, so I’ll not throw you off my ship, but be very aware that it is my ship. If you want to leave, fine, but if you stay you’ll take my orders and not cause trouble with the others.”

“I’ve a few conditions of my own.”

“State them.”

“For one, I reserve the right to think for myself, and decide-for myself- when obeying your orders is suicidal.”

“Oh, I’d never expect self-sacrifice from you.” Avon always was for Avon. 

Avon’s eyes narrowed. “It’s good that we agree on that. For another, I dislike the possibility that I may have been mind-wiped. Orac feels that we should commence dual therapy as soon as you are recover..."

“NO!” Blake roared, thinking of Avon’s mind in his, raping him inwardly. Hadn’t his body been enough? Wasn’t it enough that he dreamed of submission without letting Avon see it? “I don’t want you to remember. I don’t want to remember it any more clearly myself.”

“So you don’t really...”

“Go. I’d rather not see you any more than I have to, Avon.” The growl had gone deeper, full threat. _Go before I forget how useful you are, and kill you with my bare hands._

Avon realized he’d overstayed his welcome. He turned to leave, and regretted it immediately as he felt Blake’s hot breath on the back of his neck, and Blake’s strong hands on his shoulders, holding him still. “One thing I do remember, Avon. You abandoned me. I needed you, and you left. I learned my lesson. I don’t need anyone, Avon. Not Jenna, not Cally, and most especially, not you.” _When I needed you most, you left me. I was a convenience, something to turn to when your beast wanted a victim. I won’t be a victim any more, not the Federation’s and not yours._

That hurt. Avon kept his face from registering the pain, as he twisted to look at Blake over his shoulder. “Perhaps I owe you an apology,” he said quietly, “but as I don’t recall my transgressions, I can’t provide an honest one. All I can say is that I do regret any undeserved injury I may have caused you.”

Blake released Avon with a shove. “That’s about what I expected. Always so cold and controlled, aren’t you? Well, go on, I’m sure your friend Orac is waiting for you. It’s the only thing on this ship that can stand your company.” _That hurt. Good. Why should you think you have friends? If I can not be close to them, why should you imagine they like you?_

Avon bit his lip, and nodded silently as he escaped into the corridor. He carefully re-locked the door, and then leaned against the corridor wall, letting his nerves get back in order. He jumped a foot when a quiet voice said, “Bad one, eh?”

“Vila!” Avon snapped, and whirled to face his fellow thief. “Haven’t you anything better to do?”

Vila slouched and looked so miserable that Avon almost felt guilty. “I just wanted to know how Blake was doing. Cally’s busy with Jenna, and you never have time to talk to me anymore.”

Avon opened his mouth for a cutting remark, then sighed, and mentally revised his words. “Blake’s deprogramming is progressing according to schedule. He is understandably confused.” Without thinking, Avonreached up to rub his aching shoulder. Vila’s eyes widened, and Avon glanced down to see a reddened patch of skin visible on the side of his neck. He adjusted his tunic to cover it, and said. “He is also potentially dangerous. Fortunately, Orac says he needs only three more sessions.” 

“Oh.” Vila smiled. “That’s good, then. Things will be getting back to normal, soon.”

“Yes, Vila. Back to our normal, boring routine. Blowing up heavily guarded installations. Stealing secret files from heavily guarded installations. Attacking heavily guarded installations.” Avon was enjoying himself. “Rescuing hapless rebels from heavily guarded installations.”

“Stop! Stop! I get the idea. You’re no fun, Avon, you know that?”

“So Blake keeps telling me,”Avon said, feeling his good humor vanish as swiftly as it had come. “In case it has escaped your attention, we are not on a 'fun' cruise."

“It could be, if you could just get Blake to lighten up a little. You know, hint about how badly we could all use a holiday.”

“Back to that again. I know, it’s a pity we canceled your holiday on Del Ten. After all, just because we are short-handed isn’t reason enough to deny your well-earned Beta Particle bathe.”

“I don’t mind that.” At Avon’s raised eyebrow, Vila said, “Really, I don’t. It’s just that after all this, Jenna and Blake and Cally could really use a few days off from the revolution. If you don’t mind my saying so...”

“When has my minding ever prevented you from saying anything?”

“Well, you could use a break, too. Orac thinks it would be a good idea. He was telling me about these pleasure planets, where just about anything goes.” Vila lifted an elbow to nudge Avon, but apparently thought better of it. “I mean, no matter what!” Vila chuckled.

Avon went cold inside. _Had Orac told Vila? No, of course not. He’d given very clear instructions to Orac. No one knew except him and Blake._ “How nice for you and Orac.” Avon turned and stalked off.

“Nah,” Vila muttered to Avon’s rapidly receding back. “You don’t need a holiday, Mister Sunshine. Oh, well, Vila my boy, it’s back to solitaire for you.” He looked down at his hands. “In more ways than one.” He let out a huge sigh.

***

Three days later, Blake was on the flight deck plotting again. Avon reconsidered his statement. That wasn’t exactly accurate. Blake never plotted on the flight deck. No, everything was presented full-blown and ripe, beautifully polished to hide the imperfections. It wouldn't do to let the masses see any alternatives to the scenario he desired.

“Avon, would you mind terribly joining us?” Blake growled. Jenna, Cally and Vila were already gathered around the lounge, worshipfully awaiting the word from on high. 

Avon looked up from his console. “If that is meant in the philosophical sense, I fear I must decline.”

“Avon.”

“On the other hand, it might be amusing to see what ‘Fearless Leader’ has in mind for us now. That is, if his mind is entirely his own.” Avon sauntered down to sit at the farthest end of the couch from Blake.

Cally said, in a placating tone, “Orac has confirmed that the programming has been neutralized.”

“The pulse-tone hypnotic is gone,” Avon agreed, letting his skepticism show. 

“What are you hinting at?” Jenna snapped. Sharing his nightmares had made her even more protective of Blake than ever.

Avon spread his hands, eyes wide in a mock innocent expression, and said, mildly, “Why, nothing. I’m sure Blake knows his own mind.”

“Yes, I do, Avon.” Blake gave Avon an unreadable look. “And I know yours. If you have any problems with my leadership, I’m sure you can find a suitable bolt-hole. Perhaps at Freedom City.” _But you won’t go, will you? You think the Liberator is the only thing standing between you and the Federation. They’d like to capture you, torture you, and use you. You were never one for receiving pain- only giving it. I’ve got you, and you know it._

“Freedom City?” Vila perked up. “Is that our next mission? Do you need someone to infiltrate? I can go undercover on a moment’s notice!”

Blake smiled. “I’m afraid not, Vila. I’ll need you and Avon to stay aboard the Liberator. Cally and Jenna and I will go down.” _It might be safer to bring Avon along, but I don’t think I could concentrate on the mission and Avon as well. Not yet, but I’ll learn. I’ll learn to be as cold and callous as he is._

Vila’s eyes went round as he expressed his dismay, “But- but, that’s Freedom City! That’s one of my lifetime ambitions! You wouldn’t like it there Blake, it’s no place for an Alpha, or for properly brought up ladies. The things they do there..." Vila shuddered, but it was hard to tell whether excitement or feigned disgust was behind the motion. 

“Oh, don’t worry about sullying Blake’s purity, Vila. He’s far from innocent,” Avon said. And sly enough to take our pilot with him to prevent me from absconding, but not quite sly enough. Between Orac and Zen I shouldn’t have any problem controlling Liberator, and I could always control Vila . It’s tempting, but no, it would be a short-term solution at best. It wouldn’t invalidate the prediction. 

“Enough, Avon!” _One more snide hint, and I may very well decide to let you go. Only you won’t like where I’ll leave you._

“As you like, Blake. After all, you are the one giving the orders.” Avon paused, then added, “Now.” He had been worrying at Blake for three days, trying to pry open the defensive shell, trying to irritate Blake into admitting that they could not simply ignore their past. He succeeded.

Blake rose, and back-handed Avon in a move so swift and unanticipated that Avon flew over the back of the couch, landing with an audible crack as his skull hit the deck. _No! Dammit, he’s making me like him, like them, like all those monsters who feed on pain. I hope I killed him._ Blake’s stomach turned at the thought. _No. No, I don’t. Despite everything, I don’t want you dead. I hate you, and I love you, and you aren’t capable of feeling anything for anyone. Not even for yourself. You’re worse off than I am._

“Blake!” Cally cried out, shocked. She ran around the couch and knelt beside Avon. 

Avon lifted his hand to stop her from touching his face. He got up, slowly, clinging to the nearest console. His head hurt, his back hurt, and he wasn’t quite sure that his jaw was still firmly attached. “That’s no answer,” he said quietly, and made his way off the flight deck, with Cally lending a supportive hand under his arm.

“Answer?” Vila asked, bewildered by the sudden violence. “I didn’t hear any question.”

“Maybe we did, and we just didn’t understand it,” Jenna replied. She was staring at Blake, who was standing still, looking down at his hands.

***

“Avon, what is this all about?” Cally asked as she applied the tissue regenerator to the wrenched muscles of his back. She’d already treated his mildly cracked skull and loosened teeth, and the pain was easing to the point where Avon trusted himself to speak. He was treading a thin line, using innuendo to force Blake to face the truth without revealing it to the others. Not that he cared what they thought of him, but it was so very... plebian to air one’s dirty linen in public.

“All what?”

“Avon,” Cally scolded.

Avon sighed. “Revolution is a stressful occupation. Perhaps you should try to talk Blake into the holiday Vila’s been whining about for the last month.”

“Blake did not hit you because of stress. You have been deliberately infuriating him. Why?”

“Leave it, Cally.This between Blake and I. We will have to settle it ourselves.”

“This is no time for petty quarrels. You know Blake is on the trail of Star One. When we find it, we shall have won.”

“Yes? At what cost? Blake hasn’t given a single thought to the devastation the destruction of Star One will cause.”

“Perhaps we will merely disable the military functions of the computer.”

Avon gave her a look that spoke volumes for her naivete. “It isn’t likely to be neatly compartmentalized, Cally. No, there are only two options. Either we - correction, I - reprogram Star One entirely and control the Federation by threat, or we destroy it utterly. Since I can’t envision Blake trusting me to rule the universe, that leaves us with his old standby- bomb everything flat, and wipe out millions, possibly billions, of people who have never even heard of Roj Blake. Rather a pity, as they will not even have the comfort of knowing they die in a grand and glorious cause.”  
“I admit the destruction will cause considerable disruption, but surely the individual planetary systems will take over the most vital functions. It would be irresponsible to have one computer control everything.”

“Perhaps on Auron the leaders are wise, far-seeing and concerned more for their people than themselves. The Federation is not. The Federation is fanatical about control and the Federation ideal is Star One. It literally is the life-support for dozens of terraformed planets, domed asteroids and space stations. It also controls surface traffic, power plants, and water treatment facilities among other things. When all of that fails, you will have chaos at best,while mass extinction is not beyond the realm of the possible. The Black Plague wiped out a quarter of humanity back in the Dark Ages. The Blake Plague may well exceed that.”

“I think you exaggerate.”

“I think, unlike the rest of you. Rational thought is in short supply on this ship.” Avon slid off the treatment table. “Thank you for this delightful chat.” Avon strode from the medical unit without looking back. Cally was as brain-washed as Blake, although she’d done it to herself. Jenna was infatuated with Blake and with Blake’s ‘heroism’ and Vila was putty in Blake’s manipulative hands. Even Zen seemed to have embraced Blake’s cause.The only clear-thinking entities on board the Liberator were himself and Orac. He decided to consult Orac again.

***

Avon had taken the computer from the flight deck by the simple expedient of picking it up and walking off with it. Blake had looked up, but he’d said nothing. Vila and Jenna had been there as well, equally mute. That almost made it worthwhile. Now all he needed was a useful suggestion from Orac concerning the persuasion of a certain stiff-necked rebel. As he explained to Orac, “I have tried to make Blake see reason. I have gone so far as to tell him of your prediction.”

"To what result?"

“He said he didn’t believe you. I think he did, but he’s so bull-headed he is certain he can bend fate to his whim. Or perhaps he has a death-wish. I can’t tell with him. There’s no getting through that thick skull. Logic is wasted on the man.”

"Then do not use logic."

“What else is there? You’ve ruled out force. What do you expect me to do, exert my charm on him?”

"Precisely. Seduce him. Convince him that the past can not be denied until it is relived and resolved."

“Orac...” Avon choked and spluttered. “Don’t be absurd. It’s impossible. I despise him, and he hates me.” 

"Do you? Does he? Or is this an artifact of programming?"

“If I were to try it, he’d kill me.” But Avon’s protest was half-hearted. While he was not a whip-wielding sadist, he had nothing against sex. He had enjoyed sex with men, and Blake was an extremely sensual creature. It might be ... interesting.

"I do not advocate a frontal attack. Be circumspect. Act upon his subconscious. Be the man he remembers."

Avon pulled Orac’s key. “I’ll probably wind up thinly spread across the bulkhead.” He grinned. “But, if nothing else, the look on Blake’s face will be priceless.”

***

“About time you showed up,” Blake growled, responding to the familiar cadence of boot steps on the stairs leading to the flight deck. “Until you leave this ship, you’ll fulfill your responsibilities just like...” Blake turned and saw Avon. “What are you playing at now?” _He’s just like my dreams. Gods, no. The smell of leather, and Kerr Avon._ He felt his trousers tighten as his cock swelled.

“Whatever game you like, Blake,” Avon said softly. He’d gone to some trouble and was quite gratified at the reception. He walked slowly down the steps, giving his hips just the slightest sway. He smiled brilliantly at Blake, and brushed one hand lightly over the tight black leather encasing his groin. “How do you like my new outfit?”

“Avon.” That was a threat. _Come closer, and I may rape you myself. See how you like it._

Avon’s smile widened. He came closer, pretending to study his clothing in the reflective surface of a dormant monitor. His tunic was glove weight, butter-soft black leather, so thin his nipples were visible, tight little peaks revealing his excitement at this game. The tunic was decorated by a diagonal line of silver studs stretching across the chest to lead the eye down to his groin. The trousers matched the tunic, outlining his endowments quite clearly, while his legs were encased in crotch-high black leather boots. He’d hesitated over the boots. They were sexy as hell, but they’d be the very devil to get out of gracefully. He had decided that Blake’s walls wouldn’t crumble at the first volley, so he indulged his vanity. He’d certainly got Blake’s attention.

“Blake.” Avon turned his back on Blake and deliberately went over to his station. He began running systems checks. 

Blake couldn’t help admiring Avon’s display.Silky hair gleaming under the lights, lean muscles playing under soft leather. That firm, round arse, the tautly stretched animal hide covering his crotch. If only his soul was half as beautiful as his body. “Don’t do this, Avon.”

Avon looked up. Blake was flushed and sweating. “I’ve done nothing to you. That I can recall.”

Blake shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“What won’t?” Avon said, idly reaching one hand to adjust the snug fit of his trousers.

Blake’s cock leaped and he felt himself pulled, as if base metal to Avon’s lodestone. No! Blake made a strangled sound, then fled the flight deck.

“Well, now. I think that’s one point to me.” _This may not take as long as I’d thought._

***

Only Blake was stubborn, as the Federation could attest.The next time Avon appeared on the flight deck it was main watch, and all the others were there, so he was more restrained in his costume. His heavily quilted red leather outfit could probably be worn in public on most planets. Indeed, he’d already worn it without intending to seduce.

“Avon,” Jenna said as he entered, “there seems to be a fault on manual piloting. The indicator shows red, when it ought to be green. It’s responsive, though.”

“Oh?” Avon continued walking down to stand beside Blake, close enough so Blake would get a good whiff of his new cologne; a blend of animal musk and exotic flowers. The general impression was supposed to be that of a jungle beast on the prowl, according to the packaging. He stood with his hands behind his back, gave Blake a friendly grin, then turned to Zen, ‘accidentally’ brushing against Blake’s crotch as he turned. Blake backed up as if burned. “Zen,” Avon said, “can you identify the source of the malfunction in the manual piloting controls?”  
"Negative."

“Hm. Well, I’ll just take a look. Sorry,” he said, as he found Blake in his path again and lost his balance. His hands flew out to grasp Blake’s shoulders to preserve his balance. Blake grabbed him roughly and set him on his feet.

“Perhaps you’d better watch your step.” Blake’s voice was even deeper than normal. _Unless you’d care to step outside the airlock. Or into my cabin... No! Don’t think it. He’s teasing you, trying to make you lose control, and the instant you do, he’s won._

“Perhaps. Then again, you can’t get very far keeping your eyes on the ground. I’ll take the risk.” Smiling, Avon went around Blake, and up to Jenna’s console. He snapped off the outer casing, and bent down to peer inside. “Vila, get my tools.”

Vila got up, grumbling, “What did your last slave die of?” 

“Do you really want to know?” Avon asked.

“No, I don’t,” Vila replied. “Oh, all right.” He left the flight deck, still muttering to himself about high-handed Alphas.

Blake went over to Cally’s console, and began a quiet discussion with her about the possibility of contacting rebel forces to join in the attack on Star One. See? I’m not bothered by you, not distracted at all. But Blake kept a corner of his awareness on Avon. Avon didn’t take well to being ignored. He would strike back.

Avon lay down on the deck, and squirmed around, trying to see into the console mechanism. He made an exasperated noise, sat up and peeled the stiff tunic off over his head, rumpling his hair in the process. He casually tossed the tunic to Blake. “Would you mind?” He straightened his black silk undershirt, and tucked it neatly into the red leather trousers. It hadn’t been apparent just how snugly they fit until he removed the hip-length tunic.

Blake caught the tunic automatically. “I’m not...” _Not your slave. But I am. So long as I remember it, I am._

“Not what?” Avon said, pausing in the act of fitting himself back under the console.

“Not going to argue with you.” Blake folded the tunic, and laid it down across a console. His hands seemed to hesitate, rubbing the warm, musky leather. _It was good, though. Being with him. It was like nothing and no one else. If only we could have been equals. Why did he have to abuse me? Why did I beg for it?_

Avon lay there, watching, his eyes appraising Blake. Even Blake’s bulky garments couldn’t entirely hide his assets from this new angle.

“Avon,” Jenna said, pointedly. “Are you going to fix the console, or not?”

“Of course. Just as soon as my ‘slave’ returns with my tools.” 

“Are you going to just lie there waiting for him?” Jenna asked.

“Why? Where would you suggest I lie?”

“How about in the middle of a transport lane,” she muttered, looking uneasily at Blake. Blake was staring at Avon in a very odd manner. 

Avon smiled at her. 

“And what are you so cheerful about, anyway?” Jenna kept looking from Avon to Blake. 

“I’m conserving energy. It requires more muscles to frown than to smile.”

“In that case, I can see how tired you could get,” Vila said, coming back. He dumped a roll of tools on Avon’s stomach.

Avon jumped, and started to glare, then he smiled and said, “Thank you, Vila.” 

Vila stared at him. “You aren’t coming down with something, are you?”

Avon laughed. “What, can’t I be polite? Do I have to be the whip-wielding ogre all the time?”

“Cally, are you sure that knock on the head hasn’t scrambled Avon’s brains?” Vila asked, only half in jest.

Cally had been silently watching the interplay between Blake and Avon. “Of course not. Avon is just being himself. You know how he likes to tease you.”

“Oh, I see the problem now,” Avon said. He went around to the front of Jenna’s console, lifted the top, and removed a pair of colored diodes; one red, one green. He put them back, each in the other’s place. He gave Jenna a particularly blinding grin. “There. All fixed.”

Jenna stared at Avon, then down at the little green light blinking up at her, then back at Avon. “Those lights didn’t switch themselves.”  
“No. I must have done it during the late watch,” Avon admitted easily. “I admit to becoming bored when I’m on my own, late at night.”

“I thought Blake was sharing the watch with you.” Cally said, glancing from Blake to Avon.

“He left early. Oh, well, no harm done.” Avon went to the back of the console, snapped the cover plate on, and picked up his tool kit. “As I don’t want to strain my ‘slave’, I’ll return these to my cabin myself.” Granting the startled occupants of the flight deck one last sunny smile, Avon strode off to his room. 

“You had better check him out,” Vila said to Cally.

“Don’t bother,” Blake snapped. “You were right. He’s just playing with us.” He picked up Avon’s tunic and crushed it in his fists. And how I wish he were playing another game with me. He turned back to Cally, with a false calmness. “Now, about those contacts...”

***

Avon stopped for a drink before returning to the flight deck. Playing the ass was more difficult than it seemed. His lips hurt from smiling so broadly. He wondered how Vila did it. Maybe the rumor that Deltas possessed higher stamina was based in fact.

“Avon.”

Avon turned. “Jenna.” She was scowling. “I am sorry about the mix-up, ” Avon said.

“I don’t buy it. You don’t make that sort of stupid mistake.” Jenna came closer, and wrinkled her nose as the full effect of Avon’s cologne hit. “Gods, what is that?” She waved her hand in front of her nose as the full effect of Avon’s cologne hit.“You've been after Blake ever since the decision to go to Freedom City, trying to rattle him. Why? Is there something I don’t know about the mission?” Avon didn’t answer. “Come on. It’s my life at stake too. If there’s something that can affect our chances, I deserve to know it.”

Avon shook his head. “No, you don’t. For once, Blake would agree with me. Stay out of it, Jenna. This time it is strictly between me and him. I regret that innocent bystanders may be caught up in the brawl, but it can’t be helped. Excuse me.” He gulped the last of his drink and set the glass down. “I’m expected on the flight deck.” He left without any further explanation. He imagined he felt Jenna’s glare on his back all the way to the flight deck.

***

Next day’s outfit was black again, this time thick-napped velvet with inset panels of glossy black leather in a not-so-subtle V aiming groinwards. He didn’t have time for subtlety. They would be at Freedom City in less than a week. Once Blake got on his high rebel horse, he’d sublimate his sexual drives again, turning himself once more into the noble eunuch for a cause. The thing to do was get Blake off balance, and try to catch him when he fell.

Avon marched onto the flight deck, back ramrod straight, and no trace of levity on his stern face. Jenna and Cally had not yet arrived, but he still had two victims available. He glanced at several consoles, then stiffened. “Vila!” he snarled, “Get over here.”

“What? What?” Vila was becoming a nervous wreck, due to Avon’s recently mercurial personality. “What did I do?”

“It’s more a matter of what you didn’t do. You had the late watch last.”

“Um. Yeah. So what?” Vila tried to put on a belligerent tone, but his voice wavered at the last moment.

Avon sneered, and grabbed Vila by the back of the neck, pushing him toward the main console. “Do you see your hourly reports?”

“I can’t see anything this close!” Vila put his hands out, and pushed away from the console.

Avon released him. “I couldn’t see them either. According to this, you performed no systems checks, asked for no status reports, and filed no reports. What were you doing, playing with yourself?” Avon eyed Vila’s crotch blatantly. 

Vila’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t come up with a witty, cutting remark.

“Leave it, Avon,” Blake said, coming up from the couch to face Avon on the upper level. His eyes were dark and dangerous, his fists clenched at his sides. _I won’t have you dragging Vila into this._

Avon looked at Blake, and ran his tongue tip around his upper lip. Then he said, “If you intend to remain in charge, you need to keep tighter control.”

“My control isn’t in doubt, Avon.” _How can it be? Every second of the day I want you, at my side, and in my arms._

“Isn’t it? Do you honestly believe you can challenge the Federation when you cannot get a day’s work out of one lazy Delta?” Avon said, his eyes dark and sullen. His voice dropped into a smooth purr. “But I can. I know how to get my orders carried out.”

“Keep it up, Avon, and you’ll be the one carried out.” _Don’t push me. I’ll kill you before I’ll let you master me again._

Vila stared in shock at the two Alphas. The hostility was reaching frightening new levels, even for them. “Er. Couldn’t we talk this over, peaceably?”

Avon swung on Vila, driving the other man back with the force of his glare. “Peace is the one thing we shall not have. Not so long as he,” Avon said while stabbing a finger in Blake’s direction, “pretends to lead.”

“Pretends?” Blake’s growl was soft, but Vila cringed, hearing barely suppressed rage in it.

Avon nodded. “No man can lead who does not know himself. How can he expect loyal followers, when he shows them a mask, a hollow image he hides behind?”

“I hide behind nothing, and no one.”

Avon granted Blake a thin, superior smile. “On the contrary, you are hiding behind ignorance. You blithely imagine that refusing to acknowledge a fact will make it go away. It won’t. It will continue to grow in the dark, festering. Some wounds must be lanced.”

“And so you are volunteering to be the surgeon? It’s a dirty job, Avon, much worse than you, in your ignorance, can imagine.” _Does he really care? Is it possible that he feels guilt and wishes to make amends?_

“I had gathered that impression.” Avon’s eyes were bleak. “But the alternative is worse.” Avon’s voice dropped its strident pitch, lost the false cadences of seduction and games’ play. “Honesty is painful, but it is sometimes the only way.”

Blake shook his head, not in negation, but more as if trying to shake loose an irritant. “There are some things best not faced again.” _I may have misjudged you. Even a bastard can have a sense of honor. Perhaps you didn’t realize how your games looked from my side._

“How can you be so sure? At least, you could try an empirical experiment.”

Blake swallowed, his throat muscles working visibly. He made no attempt to misunderstand Avon’s offer. “And what would that accomplish?” _Beyond giving me one last taste of Avon. And it would be the last. One of us would have to go after that. I could not bear to be your slave again and you will not be mastered. It’s a pity we could never find the middle road._

“It might help me. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be something.” Avon stared into Blake’s eyes. “Any truth is better than lies.”

“Not always, but you won't take my word for it." Blake sighed, and turned his attention to Vila, who was looking back and forth between the two of them, totally confused. "Vila, why don't you go and ask Cally for some adrenalin and soma?"

“Because she won’t give it to me,” Vila replied. 

“Tell her I said you needed it.” Blake smiled ruefully. “For that matter, I could use a drink myself.”

Vila left at a near run.

 

Blake looked at Avon for several minutes, searching his eyes for any wavering. Finding none, he said, “I’ll sleep with you, Avon, just the way we did before, and when it’s over, it will be over. I can’t share any more than that with you. After Star One, we’ll go our separate ways, and I’ll try to forget.”

Avon said, softly. “While I try to remember.” He shook his head and gave Blake a rueful grin. “At cross purposes, as usual. When?”

“Tomorrow night, the late watch. We’re both off-duty then.” Blake tried to smile. “And, after all, you get bored when you’re on your own at night.”

Avon shifted restlessly. Vila would be back soon and he had one question left. Only he couldn’t think of the proper way to ask. 

Blake read the question in Avon’s eyes. “What?”

Avon sighed. “At the risk of appearing trite- ‘your place or mine’?”

Blake chuckled. “Mine, I think. I have fewer breakables.”

Avon lifted his eyebrows, but kept his mouth shut. Having finally gotten Blake in an agreeable mood, he didn’t want to press his luck. By the time Jenna and Cally appeared, Blake and Avon had found projects to keep them ostensibly occupied, although Avon found himself gazing at Blake from time to time, and caught Blake looking back a few times.

The changed atmosphere went without remark, but it was noticed. Vila was nervous, Cally was thoughtful, and Jenna was suspicious. Cally was the only one that concerned Avon. Who knew how an alien mind worked? Particularly when that alien was telepathic. Still, even if she guessed, he thought she would keep silent.

***

Avon was beyond having second thoughts. He was already up to eighth, ninth and tenth thoughts, but Orac’s prediction kept him to his purpose- that, and the fact that Blake would laugh at him if he backed out after playing cock-tease for days. He looked furtively down the cross-corridors, desperately hoping that no one would ever see him in his ‘master’ outfit. He was encased in skin-tight black leather, liberally decorated with studs; even his boots and heavy gloves were weighed down with the things. About all that was missing was a whip. No one was in sight. He hurried, leather squeaking with each step, to Blake’s cabin. He paused just outside Blake’s quarters, and pressed the announcer. “Blake?”

The door opened. Avon stared. Blake was standing there, ‘dressed’ in only a thin black leather collar, set with short spikes. A matching leash trailed from the collar. Blake gazed into Avon’s startled eyes for the barest instant, then he stepped back, silent on bare feet, bent his head down, and said, “Enter, my master.” _He is so beautiful when he is surprised._

Avon swallowed hard and walked in, immediately triggering the doorlock. “Blake...”

Blake dropped to his knees, quite gracefully considering his size. “I exist but to serve, beloved master,” Blake said, without raising his head. “In what manner may I please you?” It’s so easy, and it feels so good. Let Avon make the decisions. But this time it is only a game. He may have my body, but he will not break my will. I do this because I choose to do it.

“I...” Avon was at a loss. “I don’t remember. Tell me. What do you like?”

Blake trembled. “My master is pleased to jest with his humble slave.” He ‘walked’ forward on his knees, and pressed his shaggy head against Avon’s leather-covered crotch. “I serve, master. Give me an order, that I may prove myself.” _This is not real. I will satisfy his curiosity and appease his guilt, and then I will let him go. I could never hate him, no matter what he does to me, but I can hate myself. Avon’s vices are animalistic. Can you blame an animal for being true to its nature, blame a predator for killing, blame a shrike for impaling its victims on thorns? No, I do not blame Avon anymore, but I will not be a victim again, not even to this elegant master._

Avon’s hands went down to Blake’s head. Somehow it felt right to pet Blake as if he were a tame animal. Blake moaned and moved his head, accepting the caresses. Avon’s fingers touched the collar’s spikes, and he jerked his hands away. “Slave.”

“Yes, master.”

“Look at me.”

Blake looked up at Avon. Behind the unquestioning gaze of the slave, Avon saw the steel will of Roj Blake. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Use me in any way you please, master. I deserve pain. I must suffer to pay for my crimes.” _That was classical masochism, wasn’t it?_

“What crimes?” Avon caught Blake’s head between his gauntleted palms, digging hard enough to provide Blake with an edge of pain.

Blake blinked. “My crimes are many, master. Must I repeat them?” _What will you believe? I’ll not use Gan’s memory in this game._

Avon considered. Blake sought physical pain to cover mental anguish, but it did not cure it. Avon knew that from bitter experience.“Yes. I order it. Tell me why you must suffer.”

_Because it will please you. Isn’t that always the answer? It was for the Federation._ Blake’s eyes hardened. Avon backhanded Blake across the face. Blake gasped and fell, curling up on his side. He put one hand up to trace the bruised flesh. 

His eyes were bright, and, Avon noted, his previously limp manhood twitched and began to rise. Avon stepped forward, boot raised to kick. “Answer me, slave.”

“I betrayed my people. I renounced my cause,” Blake paused. Avon kicked him, hard, in the thigh. Blake moaned, and said, “Thank you, master.”

“Continue,” Avon said, “Why else must you be punished?”

“I was ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful? To whom?” Avon grabbed the leash and jerked hard, choking Blake. He loosened his grip. “Answer.”

“To the Federation!” Blake shouted. “They trained me, I should never have rebelled.” _Hell. That was stupid, not even Avon would believe he felt guilty about that. Funny thing was, he did. Probably a remnant of childhood loyalty conditioning, just the standard fellowship songs, hand on heart oaths at schooltime, that sort of thing. Nothing that mattered. Nothing he couldn’t handle._

“Really?” This was too easy. Blake was giving Avon a script. He had to get down to Blake’s basic emotional levels. If it took pain, then he would give Blake pain. He walked around Blake, examining the huddled figure. “I don’t know why I ever bothered to make you my slave.” He nudged his boot under Blake’s chin, lifting it. “You aren’t particularly handsome.” He looked at Blake’s body. “And you’re not very clever, either, are you?”

“No, master,” Blake agreed, freely. _If I was clever, I’d never have been caught. But then, you were caught too, weren’t you?_

Avon knelt beside Blake, and reached down with both gloved hands to take Blake’s genitals. “Perhaps it was for this?” Avon muttered, rubbing and pressing and observing the result. “No, that’s not very likely,” he said, abandoning Blake’s rapidly stiffening cock. “Ah. I think it was for this.” His hands reached around, parted Blake’s buttocks, and probed roughly within. Blake’s eyes went wide in sudden fear. Why am I frightened? I knew what he was going to do. He can’t hurt me very badly. He knows that. No! Don’t touch me, you don’t own me! Blake gasped, started to move away, then froze, realizing his mistake. _I thought I could go through with it._

Avon stood up. “You didn’t think I’d do it, did you? You planned to put on a show, and frighten me off, didn’t you?” Avon snapped. “You never had any intention of letting me know what it was really like between us.”

Blake got up. “You don’t need to remember it, Avon.” _Even the false innocence you have is better than my nightmares. I envy you._

“That’s right!” Avon stood nose to nose with Blake. “You decide what everyone needs. You know what everyone in the universe needs. You disgust me. Not for this,” he said, tugging at the leash. “This is human. This is understandable.”

“Understandable?” Blake roared. “This is sick and perverted! My God, maybe I did...” Blake went white. I never meant to say that, never meant to let him see my doubts. Now he will attack, and how can I deny what may be true?

Avon protested, “No. You didn’t. Not children, Blake. Not children and not rape.”

“How do you know? You don’t even know what you did to me!”

Avon shouted back, “I know you! You couldn’t do that!”

Blake shook his head, then smiled, slowly. “You really believe that?”

“I’m not in the habit of telling lies.”

“Wait a minute.” Blake rubbed at his chin. “I have to get used to the idea that Kerr Avon, confessed cynic, believes in me.” It spread a warm glow, melting the cold, hard lump in his stomach. _If Avon, of all people, believed in my innocence, maybe I can, too._

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Avon muttered.

“I think you did.” Blake looked at peace with himself. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I mean it. Don’t mention it to anyone.”

“I’d hate to ruin your reputation.” _Even a sadist can have his weak spots, it seems._

“Precisely.”

There was an awkward moment, then Blake chuckled. _He looks so lost; poor, sad, little master._ “I’m a poor host, keeping you standing there.” He went over to a side table, and picked up a decanter. “Would you like some wine?

“Yes, thank you,” Avon replied, coming over at Blake’s gesture. He sat at the desk, while Blake sat on the edge of his bed, seemingly comfortable in his nudity. They drank in silence. Avon finished his drink, and stood up. “An acceptable vintage,” he said. “Thank you for an interesting evening.” He started for the door.

“Avon? Where are you going?”

“Back to my quarters.” 

“You don’t sound very happy.”

Avon whirled. “Happy? We are going to die together as madmen in the not-too-distant future. Should I dance with glee?”

“Orac could be wrong.” _Maybe. At least there’s a chance._

“No. Any form of programming destabilizes the mind,but one which influences something as basic as one’s sexuality must, inevitably, create intolerable pressures. We will become insane, I will kill you and then die myself. I suppose at the end it will be a relief. And all because I couldn’t get one thick-headed rebel into bed.”

Avon’s stance was one of defiance, but it was an outward show only, Blake saw. Avon was frightened. It bothered Blake. Avon never showed fear. “If you feel that strongly about it, I’m surprised that you’re giving up.”

Avon said, wearily, “You’re too stubborn. I can’t force you, trick you, or seduce you. I’d try bribery, but I haven’t got a single thing you’d value.”

“Ah, but you do.”

“Will you kindly stop playing games, Blake. I’m really not in the mood.”

Blake rose, and padded over to Avon. “I’ve wanted your respect, your trust, ever since the London. You pick a fine time to confess to it, now that I have no respect for myself.” 

“I’ve always been rather perverse,” Avon said, before realizing how Blake could take his meaning. “I mean...”

Blake was smiling. “Yes, you have. And so, it seems, have I.” He reached out, tentatively, and placed a hand on Avon’s shoulder. “I wish I could give you what you ask for.” _I don’t want you hurt. Despite everything, I do love you. Well, when I’m not too busy hating you and myself, and the universe._

“So do I. Blake, let go of me.”

“Why? Do you want me to?” Blake lowered his head, and pressed his mouth against Avon’s. Avon allowed it, and even tried to cooperate, but he couldn’t get into the spirit of it. It was like kissing his sister, pleasant for the tactile contact, but entirely platonic. After a few moments, Blake broke away and stared at Avon. “It isn’t working. Is it?”

Avon shook his head. “Not for me. You?”

“No. It’s all or nothing, then.”

“So it would seem.” Avon waited. “Which is it to be?”

Blake scrubbed roughly at his chin. “I don’t want you to die, Avon.”

“I’m not exactly looking forward to it, myself.”

“Gan was bad enough. You... ”

Avon’s eyes widened at the implicit admission, but he said nothing.

_If I can grant mercy to my enemies, can’t I be generous to my friends? No matter what he has done, Avon has been my friend, to the extent his twisted soul can understand it._ Blake heaved a great sigh, then settled to his knees in front of Avon again. “Do you really think this will do any good?”

“Not as much as deprogramming.” Avon saw Blake’s jaw tighten. “But it should help. Programming decays unless reinforced. The truth will eventually emerge in the form of nightmares or hallucinations. At least this way I would have some basis for comparison with reality.” _It would be an inadequate basis, according to Orac. Still, some small chance of preserving his sanity was better than none._

Blake shut his eyes, and took several deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he had regained his self-assurance. It will hurt, where it matters, but if I can help him, it will be worth it. “I can’t tell you what to do in detail. It would spoil the ‘game’. In fact, I don’t recall the details too clearly, but I can give you the general outline.”

“Go on.”

“You are the master, returning home from work, tired, irritable and seeking to vent your frustrations. I am the slave, waiting patiently for my orders. You humiliate me, beat me, tie up, and, eventually, take me.”

“Hm.” Avon didn’t like to admit it, but Blake’s bald recital had stirred his libido. He might not remember, but his body apparently did. “Any preferences? Any limits? Any restrictions?”

Blake shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I haven’t any scars the Federation didn’t give me. That’s all I can tell you.”

Avon rubbed his gloved hands together. “That leaves a great deal of room for interpretation. Still, I’m sure I can improvise something.” Avon backed up until he was almost touching the door. He schooled his expression to its most haughty. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes.” Blake was still kneeling, and he did not move, but his attitude changed. Gone was the confident leader of men; in his place, the humble slave, slave, wire-taut with eagerness to serve. Just let it happen, don’t try to control it. Let Avon lead. Give in. It will be very good. Blake shivered with anticipation.

Avon took one pace forward. “Get up,” he sneered, “and make yourself useful.”

Blake stood up, hands clasped together, his head bowed. “Master?” he queried.

“You are stupid, aren’t you? Fetch me a drink.”

“Yes, master.” Blake hurried to the wine decanter, carefully poured a glass and brought it to Avon. He was not thinking any more, not planning, or analyzing Avon’s actions. The habitual tension eased from his shoulders. He needn’t make any decisions. All he had to do was obey.

Avon took the wine without a word, wandered idly over to the bed and stared at it. “Filthy. When did you change these sheets last, slave?”

“This morning, master.”

“A likely story. Do it now. And do it right this time.” Avon stood, idly sipping his wine, as Blake brought fresh linens and carefully made up the bed. Then Avon sat on the bed, gazing idly at Blake as he sipped the wine. He handed Blake the half-empty glass. “Finish that.” Avon lay on his back, arms up to support his head, eyes shut and face carefully arranged in arrogant self-assured lines, and listened for the clink of the glass on the table. When it came, he stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes, blinking as if exhausted. “You may remove my garments, slave.”

He felt a tug on one boot, and pulled his foot away. “Clumsy lout!” He sat up, caught Blake off-balance, and knocked him to the deck. He got up and began unbuckling his belt. “You deserve a lesson.” Blake’s eyes fixed on the belt, and his breath quickened. Avon looped the belt and snapped it against his palm, making a startlingly loud ‘crack’. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, master,” Blake replied. Now it starts. Blake’s nostrils flared, taking in Avon’s scent. He felt a warm peaceful feeling flood throughout his whole body, and the last small analytical part of him identified it as an endorphin rush. Usually the brain released those chemicals as the result of physical stress, but it could be a conditioned response, a habitual reaction to a familiar situation where stress was expected. Getting the rush before the pain made him lightheaded. 

“Assume the position.” Avon wasn’t sure where those words came from, but he knew they were right. Blake gasped, and got to his knees once more, this time putting his arms behind his back and tilting forward so that his head rested on the deck and his buttocks were up in the air. _Yes,_ Blake thought, _This is right._

Avon grabbed the dangling leash, and used it to tie Blake’s wrists together up short so that any attempt to move would half-strangle. There was plenty of leash left over. After a moment’s consideration Avon slipped the end of the leash between Blake’s arse cheeks and around Blake’s rapidly flushing cock and quivering balls. The handle end was a slip noose rather than the more usual fixed loop, so he was able to insure a tight fit. He made very sure of it, taking his time.

“Master? Aren’t you going to punish me?” Blake asked. _Please. I need it. I need to know you’re as out of control as I am._

Avon started. He’d been enjoying fondling Blake.The feeling of ultimate power was incredibly erotic. Blake was utterly at his mercy. He could do anything, anything at all. “Shut up,” he said. “I want to be sure you understand why you’re being punished.” He stood up, refolded the belt so that the studs were on the inside- he never cared much for the sight of blood- and brought the belt whistling down on Blake’s exposed arse as hard as he could. He grunted with the force of it.

Blake yelped, jerked, and choked himself. _Yes. More. I need more._

“Answer me!” Avon snapped, and whipped Blake again.

“I was clumsy! I’m sorry, master.”

“Not good enough. Why are you being punished?” Avon struck again, and again.

Blake sobbed, and babbled apologies. Finally, panting, Avon dropped his belt. Blake continued to writhe and cry out. Avon reached forward and grabbed Blake by the nape, stroking his thumbs over the sides of the neck, then gently applied pressure over the carotid artery. Blake went absolutely still, save for his steady gasping. “You hurt me,” Avon whispered into Blake’s ear. “That’s why.”

“I never meant to, master.” _Gods, Avon, I never meant to hurt you. I wish you would believe me._

“But you did.” Avon released Blake’s head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” He ran his hands over Blake’s backside, stroking the hot flesh, and digging his nails into the welts. He rubbed his hand against Blake’s hole, which relaxed and opened wide at the touch. “You need this filled, don’t you?” Blake didn’t answer at once, and Avon shoved several fingers in, pushing hard. The studded glove pressed and prodded before withdrawing. “Don’t you?” Avon slapped Blake’s bottom.

“Yes, master,” Blake sobbed, arching back into the blow. “I need you, in me.” 

“Perhaps. If you are very good, and beg nicely, I may use you.” Avon went to the other end of his victim and rubbed his own aching crotch. “One way or another.” He unzipped his trousers. Blake lifted his head to the limited extent possible and watched as Avon drew out his cock and balls, carefully arranging the zipper so that the teeth could not pinch. He pulled at himself, letting his head fall back as the sensation increased and his cock quickly achieved its full length. “Now, let’s see just how sorry you really are.” Avon knelt, knees wide apart, and tugged Blake close. “Worship me,” Avon ordered. 

Blake nuzzled Avon’s genitals. “I adore you, master.” He pressed his lips against Avon’s cock in a wet kiss. The taste was so familiar he nearly wept.

“Yes, of course you do,” Avon said, trying to sound bored. “Now, tell me why.”

Blake sucked gently, tongue darting into the seeping tip of the hot, reddened organ before him. He paused and said, “I worship you because you are stronger than I am.” _I love you because you are the other side of me._

Avon didn’t feel very strong at the moment. Blake’s devotions were weakening his knees and turning his backbone to jelly. “And?” he urged.

“You tell me what to do.” _And you are as crippled as I am, and you hide it from the universe as I do._

Avon gasped and arched his back as Blake gulped him deep. He wouldn’t have believed it possible, but Blake took him all the way to his balls in one swallow. Blake moaned around Avon’s organ, and Avon nearly passed out from the stimulation. He said, “Stop!” 

Reluctantly, Blake released him. “Yes, master.” Blake glanced at Avon, not meeting his eyes. _Don’t stop now. I don’t care what happens tomorrow. Give me one memory I can trust._

Avon scrambled to his feet and turned his back to Blake. It was too good, too fast. He tried to remember why he’d started this in the first place. Getting caught up in the moment could ruin everything. This wasn’t a simple physical encounter. Orac’s prediction. Yes. The memory of that death-vid sent a cold shock down his spine. Regaining his control he turned back to Blake. “Yes, I tell you what to do. And do you know why?” Avon grasped Blake by the hair, tugging sharply enough to bring the sheen of tears to Blake’s eyes. Avon enjoyed that, too. “Pay attention when I’m instructing you, slave. I dislike being forced to repeat myself.”

“Yes, master.”

“Do you know why?” Avon enunciated each word clearly, pulling hair with each word.

“No, master,” Blake confessed. _I don’t know why I do anything. I’m a bundle of conditioned responses, conditioned to respond to you, to the Federation, to the rebels. I doubt that I ever simply think for myself. If I don’t know myself, how can I know you?_

Avon sighed, and let Blake go. “Because you can not think for yourself. You need guidance. You need a strong hand. If I don’t take care of you, someone else will discover your weakness and take advantage of you. I protect my property. ” Avon savored the words as they emerged. This was interesting; he had no idea he was going to say that.

“Thank you, master.” _You care, you bastard._

Blake was groveling, now. No, he wasn’t. He was rubbing himself against the deck. “No!” Avon snapped, pulling Blake over onto his back. “How dare you?”

“I’m sorry, master. Please forgive me.” Blake was sweating profusely, and his hair was hanging low over his eyes. Without thinking, Avon reached forward to brush back the curls. Blake closed his eyes in ecstasy.

Avon sighed. “You have no self-control, slave.” He reached down to fondle Blake’s cock. It was firm and warm, and trembled in his grip. A thrill went through him, and he cried out simultaneously with Blake. He really should take more time. He should explore the tantalizing bits of almost-memory, the visceral impressions of familiarity. He should converse with Blake, try to get into his motivations and his... oh, to hell with it. Blake’s mind wasn’t half as attractive as his backside. “I will take pity on you, this time” He opened his hand, and moved to kneel astride Blake, pushing Blake’s legs up to fully expose his arse. He guided himself slowly into Blake. Saliva wasn’t sufficient lubricant. He knew it would hurt, would hurt both of them. For himself, he’d prefer to be properly greased, but Blake needed the pain. Blake tensed, and Avon cried out. He dug his fingernails into Blake’s belly. “You’re hurting me, slave! Stop fighting me.”

Blake was red-faced and wild-eyed. “I can’t master, I can’t.” I must fight. I must resist. I must...

“Do you trust me?” No! Avon had never meant to ask that. He started to pull out.

“Please! Master, yes, I trust you! Don’t stop, don’t stop!” Blake shuddered underneath Avon. He felt the last of his resistance crumble. He couldn’t fight Avon. Avon was his master. Avon owned him. He belonged to his master. The feeling of total freedom was astonishing in its strength. Blake gave himself up to it, to Avon.

Incredibly, Avon felt Blake open up, surrendering totally. A quick push, and Avon was half-sheathed. He cried out, and paused, holding himself on stiffened elbows for an instant to savor the wonderful sensations. He was so tightly encased, he felt as if he were remaking Blake, molding to suit himself. A whimper below him drew his attention. His slave was suffering, unable to touch his cock, unable to help himself reach completion, totally dependent on Avon. Avon licked his lips and continued to hold still, trembling with the effort, until Blake gazed up at him in appeal. “You are mine. You will not obey anyone else. Only me,” Avon whispered, staring deep into Blake's eyes.

“Only you,” Blake whispered. “Please, master.”

Avon grinned savagely and began thrusting. First a few slow, shallow pumps, just to get the feel of the territory. It was so very easy. Then he picked up the pace, hitting harder and harder. Blake’s shivers and moans were continuous now, with delicious jumps and muscular contractions every time Avon’s penis rubbed the bulge of Blake’s prostate. He watched Blake avidly, devouring the man’s open expressions, wondering at the ease with which Blake gave himself to another. Avon never could. Even at the ultimate moment, he was still himself, still separate. The moment was fast approaching. He shifted, pushing Blake forward to give himself more room to thrust. There was resistance and he pushed harder.

_Something’s wrong. I can’t breathe!_ Blake began gasping louder. His face flushed redder than ever, and his writhings became frantic. Avon pumped harder. He was close, so close.

“Master, stop!” Blake could feel his muscles weakening. He was close to blacking out.

Avon ignored that. Slaves were supposed to protest.

“Please, stop,” Blake choked out. Slaves were also supposed to beg. Avon pumped frantically. Another few seconds...

_I’m dying. I can’t let Avon kill me. Not Avon._ “Excaliber!” Blake gasped, just before he collapsed.

Avon flung himself back, painfully yanking his cock out of Blake. He whined once, a short, sharp protest against the pain of delayed fulfillment, then unsnapped the leash from Blake’s collar. “Are you all right?” he asked, undoing knots with unsteady fingers. “Blake!”

Blake lay spread-eagled, chest heaving, eyes shut with concentration. _I’m alive. He stopped._ Both facts were an astonishment to him, along with the word that had stopped Avon. It was an undefeatable sword belonging to a mythical king. Not the sort of thing you’d associate with a slave, but somehow, Blake knew he was the one to choose the word as a signal to Avon.

“Blake!” 

“You stopped,” Blake whispered. He sat up, letting Avon support him. He looked at Avon in total surprise. It was a normal Blake expression, the slave gone as if he never was. I gave the word, and he stopped.

“Of course I did,” Avon snapped, unutterably relieved. For an instant, he thought he’d killed Blake. He wasn’t considering Orac’s prediction, or his own fate, simply experiencing an overwhelming, unthinking panic.

“Why?”

Avon gave Blake a glare. “You gave the safe-word! What was wrong?” The relief was fading, and anger taking its place. He curled up around his neglected erection. Despite the pain, it had only slackened slightly.

Blake nodded toward the deck. “My leash was caught in that service panel. I couldn’t breathe. Do you know what this means?”

“It means I won’t be screwing you on the deck again.” Avon wasn’t thinking too clearly. 

"But I know now." He had to make Avon understand. This changed everything. 

“Wonderful. What do you know?”

“I know that the slave is the master."  
Avon rolled his eyes. “You’ve been listening to Cally.”

Blake chuckled. “The slave makes the rules. You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want you to do.”

“I told you that before.”

“Yes, but I thought...”

“You thought I was lying.”

“No. I thought I was punishing myself by letting you abuse me.” Blake was so relieved to discover that their relationship had been mutual, that he didn’t realize how Avon might take his words. 

Avon scowled. “You have always mistaken my refusal to indulge in self-sacrifice as a sign of amorality, but this is too much.” Avon pushed to his feet, the ache in his heart more painful than the throbbing in his genitals. “I think I have made a big enough fool of myself for one evening.”

Blake leaped up and grabbed Avon’s arm. “No, Avon, don’t go.” 

Avon looked down at Blake’s hand with disaste. “Kindly release me, before you discover what abuse I am capable of committing on your body.”

“I’m trying to explain.”

“I can listen without being coerced. That is, provided you have anything sensible to say.”

Blake took his hand off Avon’s arm, and ran his fingers through his hair in distraction. “It isn’t easy. I’m no psychostrategist.”

“You could have fooled me. In fact, I think you did,on numerous occasions,” Avon muttered. He folded his arms across his chest, refusing to fondle himself while Blake talked. He wouldn’t give Blake the satisfaction of breaking Avon’s self-control, in any form.

“Avon.” Blake shook his head. “I’ve just realized why I needed that sort of relationship. It wasn’t about sex.”

“It wasn’t?” Avon raised his eyebrows. “How odd. I thought fucking someone’s arse was a sexual act. Perhaps your dictionary defines it differently.”

Blake looked pained. “There is a sexual component, of course. But I could have gotten that from any paid whore. That wasn’t what we had. I was freeing myself from responsibility. I found someone I trusted to take over leadership for a while. For an hour or so, I was free to indulge myself with you, because I did trust you. And I was right.” 

“I’m so glad that your psyche has been cleansed. If the session is over, I’d like to leave now.”

“Dammit, Avon, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. Will you listen to me?”

“How can you injure what does not exist?” Avon said coolly. “If you will recall, I only attempted this poor excuse at ‘physical therapy’ because my life was in jeopardy. I’ll do anything to save my own skin, no matter how disgusting. I also am quite mercenary. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I was acting as a whore to you in the past? After all, there could scarcely have been an emotional commitment. ”

“I don’t believe it. Avon, we meant something to each other.” 

“Did we? Well, if we did, it’s dead and buried.” Avon cruelly forced his genitals inside his trousers. He hardly felt the bite of zipper teeth past his anger. “Just as we will all be, but don’t worry about it, Blake. Maybe before you kill us all, you’ll get to topple the Federation and make billions of people suffer even more than you have. That’s what it’s all about anyway, revenge.”  
“No, Avon! Don’t!” Blake reached out, but Avon darted aside, and slammed his hand on the door-lock release. He stepped outside, and took off at a good clip, not quite running. He could hear Blake bellowing protests for quite a while, but apparently even Blake had more sense than to chase him nude down the corridors. Wouldn’t that give his loyal crew an eyeful- the bold hero, in spiked dog collar and goosebumps, begging Avon to return. 

“Avon, you arse. You’ve always got to grab the wrong end of the stick.” Blake shook his head. _I can’t leave him like this._ He looked down at himself and chuckled. _And I certainly can’t run around the deck with you like that._ He closed his eyes, spread his legs for balance, and took hold of his cock, pretending that it was Avon’s hand on him. It was surprisingly easy to imagine. Avon’s fingers would tighten just so, and squeeze, just there. Avon’s hands were exceptionally well-conditioned, from his incessant fiddling with the equipment, smooth and firmly muscled. Blake smiled, thinking of Avon’s hands exploring him, roving over his body, teasing and pulling and... uh. Oh, yes, Avon, right there! Blake shuddered and came explosively. His hands clenched once more, then released himself. Oh, Avon. He let his head fall back on his shoulder muscles, and rolled it to release the tension. He would have liked to have felt Avon’s hands on his shoulders, have heard Avon’s voice softened in the aftermath of orgasm. Abruptly, he was angry at Avon for running off and cheating him of that closeness. _You’re the one who wants to live in a cold, emotional vacuum, yet you blame me for all your unhappiness._

_Well, not this time, Avon. Hate me if you like, but you will admit to feeling something._

Blake unfastened the collar and dropped it on the floor. _I’m no slave, and you’re not even your own master._ He strode into the lavatory, and went directly to the shower. He took his time, wanting to think about what he would say to Avon. He winced as the washcloth went harshly over his tender buttocks, but not for the slight twinge of pain. He’d knelt for Avon and given his body without reservations and still Avon wasn’t satisfied. The man was too bloody greedy.

***

Avon got to his quarters without anyone spotting him and flung himself inside. He was so angry he couldn’t see straight. He was also in a great deal of pain. He couldn’t do anything about his anger, but he could relieve his discomfort. He slammed an elbow against the door-lock, knowing Blake was quite capable of barging in on him to expound theories. The man was uncouth, without manners or breeding. Avon couldn’t understand how they had ever met, let alone become sex-partners. Speaking of sex, his was about to explode. He unzipped without regard for tender flesh, and grabbed his cock as it sprang forth, leaking fluid and jerking in his hand. He’d have to throw these trousers away. They were soaked with pre-cum, and memories. No amount of laundering could remove the horrid feeling of being nothing more than a leather-clad dildo, designed to ease Blake’s leadership stresses, refreshing and renewing the bastard for battle. He should have stayed and given Blake a good show for his money, should have whipped him raw and screwed him bloody. Avon’s hand blurred in rapid stroking motions, and his teeth clenched as he thought of Blake, lying beneath him, screaming for mercy, begging Avon to help him, to save him. And Avon would laugh, and kick him and whip him and ....AAAhhhhhh. Avon’s coming was so overwhelming that he collapsed, and lay on the decking with one leg twisted under him in an uncomfortable scrunch.

He lay there for several minutes, gasping and listening to his heart pound in his throat. That had been incredible. If that was what it had been like with Blake, he couldn’t quite quell a momentary regret. It was sick, though, to arouse oneself with the thought, or worse, the act of inflicting pain on another. Fine, admit it, then. He, Kerr Avon, highly educated, upper-echelon Alpha that he was, was also a sadist. He was also perverse enough to deny himself the pleasure of ever doing it again. Well, maybe he was also a masochist. Why not add a few more titles to his list of accomplishments? In his current social milieu, a few perversions were undoubtedly required before one could join the club. 

He got up at last, still a bit shaky, and made his way to the shower. As he stripped he threw his clothes to the deck, remembering how amusing it had been, selecting just the right outfit. He’d been so stupid as to lose himself in the game, so gullible as to believe that maybe Blake had one single, solitary honest spot in his whole, fat-assed body. He’d been so damned innocent, to have thought Blake would appreciate Avon’s efforts on his behalf, might even listen to him, just once.

Avon stayed in the shower until the pounding water had given him a raging headache to add to his other complaints, and then he redressed himself in the anonymous blue tunic and trousers of a computer technician. That’s what Blake thought of him as, a useful tool. He’d be useful then, but he’d be damned if Blake would have any joy of it. Avon lay back on his bed, thinking. Blake enjoyed being dominated, enjoyed having someone take the responsibility. He probably also liked it when Avon argued. Avon sat up, startled by his own conjecture. Could it be that simple? Could it be that Blake deliberately goaded Avon into disagreements, that he enjoyed, even craved the opposition? That might explain some things. Avon lay back again, a wicked grin spreading across his face, as he considered the possibilities. Unlike Blake, Avon could admit to his desire for revenge. He lay there, planning and plotting and was prepared when the door announcer rang.

“Yes?” he said, calmly.

“We’ve got to talk.” Blake’s voice was angry, but he was making some attempt to control it.

Avon used the bedside control to release the door-lock. He sat up as Blake entered, fully dressed and obviously recently showered, as the dense curls were still a bit woebegone. “Come in,” Avon said politely, if slightly after the fact.

“Avon, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“All right, Blake.” Avon put on a serious expression.

Blake opened his mouth, paused, frowned and said, “Another game, Avon?” _I haven’t the energy for this. Why must everything be so convoluted with you?_

Avon interlaced his fingers neatly, looked down at them, then up at Blake. “Oh, I’ve stopped playing. I suppose I ought to apologize for that charade in your quarters, earlier.” Avon sighed. “Orac’s extrapolation of your response was inaccurate, I fear.”

“What?” Blake’s anger was now mixed with confusion. 

Avon felt a surge of satisfaction, but he kept it from his face. Still serious, but slightly rueful, he went on to say, “Yes, of course, you’ve realized by now that I was merely acting on Orac’s advice?”

Blake went pale. _Were you? Was that all an act?_

Avon felt a peculiar squirming in his stomach which he interpreted as pleasure at Blake’s distress. He felt entitled to a mild sadism. “You see, Orac was of the opinion that a satisfying sexual experience with me would lead you to accede to my request for the dual-therapy. I considered the effort worthwhile.”

“So it was all a cold, calculated exercise in manipulation?”

Avon shrugged. “I’m not as good at it as you are.”

“I don’t believe you. You were anything but cold, Avon.” No, Avon was molten. The man had burned with desire; no matter what he said now.  
“I admit to a momentary loss of temper. I dislike when experiments do not go as planned. When it became apparent that you had no intention of undergoing therapy with me, no matter how low I degraded myself, I was annoyed at the waste of my valuable time.”

“You’re a liar,” Blake said thickly.

“As you like.” Avon waited patiently for Blake to continue, toying idly with his ring finger while he waited.

“You were enjoying it.”

Avon nodded. “Yes, it has been quite a while since I’ve had sex. The physical sensations were different to what I am accustomed, yet still pleasurable. I’m sure I would have achieved orgasm eventually.”

Blake seemed to choke. “Don’t do this, Avon. Don’t deny what you felt.”

“I don’t let emotions rule my life. If you do, I pity you.”

“Prove that it didn’t mean anything to you. Come back to my quarters with me.” Blake regretted the offer as soon as he’d made it, but he couldn’t withdraw it. He wanted Avon, yes, but it was too dangerous.

Avon smiled. “I’m sorry, but I fear I have to refuse your generous offer. I am rather tired.” 

“Avon...” Blake paused, then said, “It’s your decision. I just wanted to be sure this hasn’t affected our working relationship.” _Our friendship. You’d never admitted that either, but I know you were my friend, once._

“No, nothing’s changed. You are our leader.” For once, Avon said it without the slightest hint of sarcasm. “You give the orders, and it’s my job to discover the best method of implementing them.”

“That’s not exactly how I saw it. I thought we were...”

“Comrades? Fellows fighting for a mutual Cause? Friends?” Avon smiled and shook his head. “The grim reality is that you are undisputed ruler of the Liberator and all she contains. Yours is the only voice of authority, yours is the hand that guides, yours is the spear that smites, etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseum.”

“You really are angry, aren’t you, Avon.” _You can be such a petty child._

Avon grinned brilliantly. “You’re catching on.” 

“And you’re going to deny me the sharpness of your tongue, and the pleasure of your wit? Is that to be my punishment?” Blake sounded amused. _Very childish, my Avon. Will you hold your breath until you turn blue?_

“You may consider it whatever you like. I have tried to give you advice. I have tried to offer my input in your insane cause. You have never appreciated it. All you wanted was a well-trained dog to bite your enemies. Since they are my enemies as well, I will continue to fight as best I can, despite the handicaps of ignorance and total lack of any influence over your missions. The one thing I will no longer do is argue with you.”

_You’re saying you no longer care enough to argue. Fine. I’m tired of playing the game your way._ “That will make a pleasant change,” Blake snapped.

“Well, then, as you are satisfied, that settles it. Good night, Blake.”

“Good night, Avon.”

***

That was the opening salvo. Avon showed up on the flight deck early the next day, wearing another severely plain outfit. The light beige jumpsuit was comfortable, and the pockets held all the tools he might conceivably need. Of course, he was about as sexy in it as a consumables refrigeration tech. Vila goggled, Jenna blinked and Cally looked extremely puzzled. Avon smiled slightly. Considering the attitude and wardrobe changes he’d been through lately, they had to be skeptical about his sanity.

“Blake,” Avon said, walking down to the flight deck couch, where Blake was sitting, holding onto his chin pensively. 

“Yes, what is it, Avon?” Blake asked, warily. Silly bastard. He probably thinks he’s denying me the pleasure of staring at his body. I wonder, does he have any idea how vulnerable it makes him look? Like a small boy, going out to play in the sandbox.

“I was thinking about performing maintenance on the teleport. While Zen will repair it once it is actually broken, there are several stressed components that could be replaced now, possibly saving us from a breakdown at an inconvenient juncture.”

“So?” _What is he on about now?_

“Is that all right with you?” Avon could feel the others staring at him. He continued to stand, relaxed, yet poised to spring into action. If Blake wanted a slavishly obedient puppy-dog, let him find out just how annoying one could be.

_No, you don’t. I’ll not pretend to be your master._ “Don’t be an arse, Avon.” Blake waved his arm. “Do whatever you want. Just as you always do,” he growled.

Avon shook his head. “No, I can’t do that. Don’t you remember the discussion we had last night?” Avon heard a minor crash behind him, and caught a whiff of spilled alcohol. Poor Vila, he was becoming very nervous. “The Liberator can’t have two masters. The only way for us to survive is if we all work as a team, and since you are the only one all the others will follow, perforce I must follow as well. So, you tell me what to do.”

_Fine. Let’s see how long you hold out._ “Go fix the teleport, then, Avon.”

“Thank you.” 

Avon went away, satisfied. He was in the middle of teasing a particularly tight bundle of cables out of the way, when he heard footsteps behind him. Too light for Blake, not sneaky enough for Vila, and unaccompanied by Jenna’s distinctive perfume. “Cally,” he stated.

“Avon,” she replied, crouching down beside him. “Blake is under severe strain.”

“Yes, well, that is one of the hazards of leadership.”

“You could help him.”

“I have tried, Cally,” Avon said. He glanced at her. “Believe it or not.”  
Cally sighed. “And it made matters worse.”

“Exactly.”

“But whatever you are doing now is terribly painful for Blake. You are hurting him. I can sense it.”

“Blake is undoubtedly wallowing in it,” Avon said. “He has everyone feeling sorry for him, and no one thinking about anything other than poor, hurt Blake. Well, I just can’t spare the energy any more. Blake is leading us to disaster, and I would like to minimize the casualties. At least by one.” He granted Cally an insincere smile. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you give Blake a brain transplant?”

“Avon,” Cally said reproachfully.

“No, Cally, there is nothing you can do.”

Cally left, trailing a lingering odor of injured Good Samaritan. Avon had cooled off while talking to her. She frequently had that effect on him. Now that he was not blinded by anger he could see that annoying Blake, while gratifying, was not solving Avon’s problem. There was a chance that Orac had not considered using one of the Federation’s own mind-benders to straighten out Avon’s memory. Blake might still wind up mad, but if Avon was sane at their future meeting, it needn’t be a complete disaster. Avon finished the teleport repair, tidied up, then returned to the flight deck. 

“The teleport is at optimum efficiency,” Avon reported. “Is there anything else you would like me to do, Blake?” The others were still on the flight deck. Apparently, Blake was determined to behave as if everything were normal. Jenna gave Avon a hard, suspicious look, and Vila skulked behind his console. Cally was silently watchful. Avon ignored all of them. Blake looked up at Avon, the anger behind his eyes under tight control. I’d like you to go to hell, Avon, Blake thought, knowing Avon would get the message.

Avon smiled. “Besides that,” Avon said. He walked around the flight deck couch and sat down next to Blake, stretching his arms casually across the top of the couch as he leaned back. “We will be at Freedom City in four days. There we hope to find Docholli, the cyber-surgeon whom a dying Federation officer told you holds the key to Star One,” Avon said, parroting Blake’s terse summation of their latest mission. “I did a little research on him with Orac. Docholli had been highly regarded for his skills in memory revision and his abilities in both cybernetic and normal surgery.”

“So?”

“Do you intend to offer him a post on the Liberator ?” Avon saw Blake’s jaw firm, and he knew the answer before he heard it.

“No. I can’t take the chance that he is a plant. Why do you ask? You’ve always been against adding to the crew.” 

“You don’t think a surgeon would be useful? Then again, considering the quiet life we lead...”

“Cally can handle things in the medical unit. She’s done very well so far.”

“So far. But there are things beyond her limited medical expertise. Even with Orac and all the advanced equipment we have, there are times I would feel more confident if the one treating me had a major in medicine, with a minor in revolution, instead of the other way around.”

“Really, Avon,” Cally protested from her position at the rear of the flight deck, “I am well trained in field medicine.”

Avon inclined his head, accepting the validity of her point. “True. But even if you are never the one in need of medical assistance, your scope is limited.”

Jenna had been watching them, her eyes narrowed as if she was puzzling out Avon’s motives. “Even if we did need a surgeon, why would we want a cyber-surgeon? Unless you intend to invite Travis on board as well, we wouldn’t have a use for a doctor who works with circuitry.”

“Maybe it’s time for Avon’s ten thousand spatial tune-up,” Vila said. “He’s been acting very peculiar lately.”

Avon grinned. “Considering your standards for normal behavior, I believe I’ve just been complimented.”

_It is Docholli’s other speciality you are interested in,_ Cally telepathed to Avon. There was no doubt in her mind-voice. _Memory revision._

Avon shook his head slightly.

“Yes, you are. Why? For Blake?”

Avon said, “It does not seem unreasonable to me, considering Federation methods, to have an expert in memory revision on our side. There will undoubtedly be occasions when a seemingly staunch ally will be acting as a Federation pawn. It would be convenient to know who can not be trusted.”

“Oh, but Avon,” Jenna said, “I thought that was everyone.”

Avon grimaced. “That simplistic view, while possibly true, is very tiring.”

Blake stood up. “Once Docholli gives me the information I need, we’ll need only one more raid. It won’t matter after that. I’m going to my quarters for a bit, Jenna. You’ll look after things here, won’t you?” Pointedly, he did not look at Avon. _I’ll not have a Federation mind-bender on my ship. You must be mad to think you could talk me into it._

“Of course,” Jenna replied. “Get some rest. You look as if you could use it.”

“Thanks,” Blake said. He gave her a brief smile, then strode off the flight deck.

“Blake does look tired, doesn’t he, Avon?” Vila asked.

Avon got up and picked up Orac. “As Blake has not assigned me any tasks, I believe I will retire to my own quarters.”

“Hey, what about me?” Vila asked. “Don’t I deserve any rest?”

Avon paused, and turned back to look at Vila. “No.”

***

Avon sat at his desk, after sliding Orac’s key in place.

"What is it?" the computer asked, sounding as irritated as usual. Avon’s door announcer chimed. “Wait, Orac,” Avon said. “It’s not locked. Come in,” he said louder, without turning. He knew who it would be.

Blake came into the room and hovered, vaguely menacing, above Avon. “Docholli’s not the answer. The man took away memories. He didn’t restore them.” Blake put his hands lightly on Avon’s shoulders. “Will you look at me?”

Avon shrugged and turned. He looked up at Blake. Jenna was right. Blake looked like he’d been dragged through several choice yards of hell. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a faintly gray cast to his skin; even his indomitable curls seemed lifeless. “I’m looking at you.”

“And what do you see?”

“I see a man who is a stranger to me, who shouldn’t be. Whatever we were to each other, I need to know it. If I’m a sick bastard who used torture for sexual pleasure, I need to know it. I could stand to look at you, and not know who you are, but I can not do the same with the man in the mirror.” Avon sighed. “If you will not take Docholli on board, then I will go with him.” Avon held up a hand to forestall Blake’s protest. “Naturally, I will leave Orac with you. I regret that I cannot provide you with a substitute computer technician, but you probably won’t need one in order to destroy Star One. Blow enough holes in anything, and it’s destroyed.”

Blake put one palm under Avon’s chin to hold his face steady while he looked into Avon’s eyes. “You’ll destroy me.” And I wonder what it will do to you. 

“That is what I am trying to avoid.”

“I can’t do it, Avon.”

“Yes, you can. You choose not to. You would rather die than have your mind interfered with again. I can understand that.” Avon took a deep breath. “I need you to understand this; when you called out the safe-word, and I responded, then I knew that I had been mind-wiped. I had believed it intellectually before that, but not deep down in my gut. Someone has walked through my mind. They may have been more subtle with me than they were with you, but the violation is no less.” He paused as Blake dropped his chin. His voice softened. “I was raped of my past. It was mine, whatever it was, and I will have it back.” He paused again, then he said, “If you will undergo dual therapy with me, I will swear to make your cause my own. I will follow wherever you lead, without complaint. I will be anything you want me to be- in private and in public.”

Blake was shaken. “You’d sell yourself into slavery?” _Avon, the master, obeying without question? How could he? He wouldn’t find the freedom in it, as I did, all he would feel are the chains. He’d break himself fighting them, no matter who held them._

“At least my mind would be my own.” Avon gave a rueful smile. “And, as masters go, I suppose I could choose worse.”

_He’s trying. He is offering me what he thinks I want most. I don’t, Avon. I never wanted to rule anyone except myself. He must be desperate. I can’t turn him away._ “After Star One, Avon. Give me that much, and then... I will try. No bargains, no sacrifices. If it’s that important to you, I’ll do it.” Blake was pale, but determined.

Avon smiled.

"That will not do." 

“Why not, Orac?” Avon asked. He’d almost forgotten the computer was still on, and listening.

"It will be too late. If therapy is not begun before Blake encounters Docholli, it will never be begun."

“Explain, Orac!” Blake demanded. 

The machine gave a mechanical sigh. "There will be no time. Blake will insist upon acting on the information without delay."

“That does sound likely,” Avon said. “You have become obsessed with Star One.”

“But what about Docholli? If the Federation gets to him first, I’ll never find Star One."

“Then we will find another way of defeating the Federation.” Avon had seldom committed himself to anyone, and only once to the extent he was offering to commit to Blake. Anna had died because of that commitment. He felt a certain fatalism. If he and Blake were destined to die together, let it be while fighting a common enemy, not each other.

“We?”

Avon inclined his head in assent. “I bear no love for the Federation. I should like to see those in authority laid low- preferably under six feet of earth. I am willing to expend considerable energy in that direction.”

Blake gnawed at a knuckle. “This makes a change from your motto: 'Kerr Avon first'.”

“Not really. Considering the bounty already on my head, either the Federation is destroyed or I am.”

“Maybe after we destroy Star One, surely there will be time then.”

"You will not have the opportunity. You and Avon will be separated."

“It’s now or never, Blake,” Avon said softly. 

“Orac, how long would dual-therapy deprogramming for Avon and I require?” Blake asked.

"That is impossible to ascertain. I will have no terms of reference until the first session is complete."

“Not even a guess?”

"I do not guess," Orac replied, sounding insulted. "If there is insufficient information, an answer can not be provided."

Blake splayed his hands atop Orac,while staring at a blank wall. “Star One may be my last chance at winning the war quickly. The longer it goes on, the more people will suffer. Can I balance our two lives against that?”

“Yes,” Avon said fiercely. He reached out to grasp Blake’s shoulder. “But that’s not the question. Our sacrifice wouldn’t achieve your goal. According to Orac’s prediction, if you do not undergo therapy you will still be fighting the Federation years from now. Fighting, and losing. When the alternative is certain disaster why not try it my way, just once?”

“Orac is only a machine. It could be wrong.” But it’s not. You know it’s not. You can choose to die yourself, but can you make the choice for Avon?

“It could also be right. Let us suppose the Federation gets Docholli first. Further suppose they kill him. Even suppose that Star One continues controlling all the autonomous reflexes of the Federation forever. Fine, let it. The Federation has other weaknesses. If we work together, Blake, we will find those weaknesses and exploit them. I agree that random terrorism has outlived its usefulness. Let us explore our options.” Avon’s eyes were dark and seductive, his voice low and mellow.

“Ah, Avon. You make it all sound so easy.” And so wonderful. You and I, together. Fighting together. Loving together. 

“No, it will not be easy. But at least it will be possible.” 

“Possible.” Blake grinned. “You are full of enthusiasm, aren’t you?” Blake toyed with Orac for a moment longer, then he said, “Well, I don’t suppose one session would do much harm.” His shoulders were rock-hard with tension under Avon’s hands. Even if you don’t hate me now, you will after you’ve been in my mind. How could you not hate someone as weak and pathetic as I am? 

Avon admired the strength of will that kept Blake’s voice from trembling. He knew Blake was facing his greatest terror. “The sooner the better, don’t you think?” he said briskly.

Blake nodded. “Avon, we’ll need someone to supervise.”

“No,” Avon answered, without thinking. 

"Blake is right," Orac put in, "I suggest Cally."

Avon shook his head. He didn’t want anyone to know about his relationship with Blake, particularly not Cally, for reasons he didn’t dare ponder.

Blake said, “If I’ve no choice, Avon, neither have you. If anything goes wrong, someone must be there to stop it. Stop us, by any means necessary. I would trust Cally to do that. Vila hasn’t the ...”

“Courage?”

“Ruthlessness, I would have said.”

“And Jenna. Don’t you trust her?”

“Actually, I do, but it would be harder on her. If she was forced to kill me, she would suffer more than Cally.”

“And you don’t want Jenna to know about us.” Avon gave Blake a sideways glance, checking to see how he took it.

“And you don’t want Cally to know about us.”

“Touché,” Avon muttered. “All right. Among the limited candidates, I must admit Cally is the best suited. She is your loyal follower.”

“So I get to tell her.”

“Naturally.”

“But you will accompany me.”

Avon sighed. “Naturally.”

***

Cally was meditating in her quarters, sitting cross-legged on her bed when Blake called her. She immediately said, “Come in, Blake.”

Blake entered with Avon one step behind and to the side. Cally uncurled gracefully, coming to her feet in one smooth motion. “There is something wrong?”

Blake grimaced. “I’m afraid so. Orac believes I need further de-programming.. We’ll have to put off the mission to locate Docholli, I’m afraid.”

Cally looked at Avon, then back at Blake. “Why? Vila and I could handle the mission.” 

Avon coughed. “Vila?” He had been expecting inquiries about the programming, not this casual acceptance. And not the assumption that Avon would not be available for the mission. Aliens. Who knew the way they thought. 

Cally said, “Vila did want to visit Freedom City. I should imagine he would blend in better than any any us.”

“He’d blend in so well you couldn’t filter him out again,” Avon remarked.

“I could keep his mind on business.”

Thinking back to his first sight of Cally, aiming a high-powered weapon firmly at Blake, Avon was forced to concede the point. “Perhaps you could, but we will require your services here.”

“We?” Cally searched Avon’s face, then turned to Blake for enlightenment.

“Orac also says that Avon has been mind-wiped. We knew each other back on Earth.”

Cally nodded.

“You knew?” Avon asked.Blake was taken aback as well, and gave Avon a slightly accusing look. Avon spread his hands in innocent denial.

Cally nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “No. It is just that I have always had a sense that you and Blake belonged together. The others have seen it, too. I believe Jenna is even jealous of you, Avon.”

Avon had another coughing fit to cover his red-faced embarrassment. If he ever had a ship of his own, all psychics would be banned. Blake helpfully whacked Avon on the back. Avon glared into Blake’s amused eyes.

“Orac has advised dual-therapy for Avon and I. We need you to watch us,” Blake said.

“Yes. Will it be like the sessions you had with Jenna?”

Blake’s, “Yes”, and Avon’s, “No” came out together.

Avon explained, “Orac also says the use of drugs and restraints is contra-indicated.”  
Cally gazed doubtfully at Blake, then at Avon. “That could be dangerous.”

“Yes, it could,” Blake said. It could be fatal, for you, or perhaps for Avon, if I become angry enough. Then again, maybe Avon will kill me. He’s fast, and he doesn’t hesitate." 

“Very well. When do you wish to start?”

“As soon as possible,” Avon said. “Before Blake gets cold feet.”

Cally looked puzzled, and Avon added, “That’s an old Earth saying. We have them too, I’m afraid.”

“Jenna and Vila are on watch. Give me five minutes to tell them what we are going to do...” Cally shook her head at Avon’s and Blake’s looks of dismay. “You do not imagine they will not find out?”

“Not yet,” Avon said, speaking for Blake as well. “Let us see how the first session goes.”

“All right.”

***

The recreation room was as cold and bare as ever, with uncomfortable recliners and scattered small tables barely breaking up the expanse of white space. Blake and Avon entered together, Avon carrying Orac which had sprouted two groups of neuro-infusion electrodes. Avon set the computer down on a table between two recliners, while Blake brought over a chair for Cally. Cally came a few minutes later, carrying a Liberator hand-gun. Blake’s face cleared at the sight of it, while Avon’s clouded. Cally said, “This is one of the guns Avon modified for Gan. It will only stun.”

“I should have thought of that,” Avon said.

“Nobody’s perfect, Avon,” Blake reminded him.

Avon gave Blake a sour look and pushed Orac’s key into place with unnecessary force. “We’re ready to begin the therapy, Orac. Cally will supervise.”

"Very well. Blake, Avon, you will lie down and relax. Think of nothing."

“Easy enough for Blake,” Avon grumbled, while he settled into the couch to the left of Orac.

"Do not make facetious remarks," Orac said. "Without drugs, the necessary Alpha-state will be difficult to maintain. Total cooperation is necessary."

Avon took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds then let it out audibly. “Yes. I understand.” Avon looked at Blake, and sighed.

“I’m nervous, too,” Blake replied. _Nervous? And you accuse Avon of understatement!_ He settled onto the recliner, and smiled at Cally as she put the electrodes on his head. He shuddered and let out his breath slowly. Let it happen. His eyes closed, and he felt himself falling through greyness.

Avon shook his head, then lay flat, shutting his eyes and trying not to think of anything. It was very awkward. He kept thinking about Blake, about the two of them together, wondering what it had been like. His breathing deepened. He started as he felt the cool touch of Cally’s hands on his forehead.

“No,” she murmured, gently, “Do not worry. It will be all right, Avon.” She placed the electrodes at his temples and throat. “Blake and I are here. You are not alone.”

Avon supposed that to be a comforting thought for an Auron, but he had always known the dangers of not being alone. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even. What was that old philosophical conundrum? Ah, yes, ‘the sound of one hand clapping.’ Let’s see, using pure logic the sound of one hand clapping is half the sound of two hands clapping. Common sense contradicts this by saying that a minimum of two hands is required for clapping, but it is still interesting to contemplate... Avon found his mind wandering, abetted by a sound that he almost recognized but was not sure that he even heard. Was it the sound of one hand clapping? It was important, whatever it was. Avon concentrated on the not-sound. 

 

It was a pure mechanical tone. No, it was the sound of the surf, waves breaking on the shore of Orac’s homeworld. No, it was a chorus of voices, calling his name. No, it was one voice. It was a voice he did not recognize, and yet his stomach knotted with fear. “Blake is your enemy. You despise Blake. ” 

Blake heard it too, only he heard it as “Avon is your enemy. You despise Avon.” 

“No,” Blake muttered. It wasn’t like the time with Jenna. He had sensed her dimly, as a supportive strength, a loyal friend. He was seeing Avon as if through glass, crystal clear on his side, but opaque on Avon’s. They were hurting him, they were hurting Avon- and they were doing it to them both at once. He had called Avon sick, but he saw he should have reserved the term.He had been programmed and so had Avon, but not as individuals. No, the brain-washers had hooked them up together and played them against each other, using lover’s knowledge of each other’s weaknesses against them. Bastards, bastards.“No!”

“No,”Avon said, softly, hearing an echo, or was he echoing the other? It did not matter, they were together, and they were both in danger. “No!” he said, in helpless anger. “Leave him alone”, came from two throats. 

Another voice broke in, distancing Avon from both the hated voice and the voice of the fellow-sufferer. It was Orac. Avon clung gratefully to Orac’s sharp tones. "What do you hear?" Orac asked.

Avon twisted, shaking his head, refusing to answer. For an instant he felt cool fingers against his skin, and he calmed. He could move. It wasn’t like before. He said that out loud.

"What was before? Remember, Avon!" Avon heard Orac’s question, but oddly he heard his name as Avon/Blake simultaneously. Before was thick straps and the suffocating enclosure in a coffin-shaped metal tube. Before was pain, fire run liquid along his nerve-endings. Before was self-loathing as he discovered what he really was. But it wasn’t like that now. Now he could move. If it became too terrible, he could run. That eased the panic slightly.

_Don’t run, Avon. We must fight them together._ Blake felt the pent up rage in himself and in Avon. They could do anything with that force if only they could control it. If only he could get through to Avon, but the glass wall still stood on Avon’s side.

The cruel voice continued, “You hate Blake/Avon.” 

Avon’s denial was enforced by the hot anger he felt from his companion, his other self. “No!” Avon shouted, ripping his throat raw with the force of it, “I love Blake!” And again the emotions and the name were doubled, with Blake/Avon echoing in his mind. 

_I love you. Fight them, Avon. Fight!_ Blake cried with all his being, but Avon could only feel the emotion. It seemed to strengthen him. Blake hoped it would be enough. The voices were tearing at Avon. Blake heard them as dimly as Avon heard him. Somehow, Avon was taking the brunt of the fight on himself. _Let me help, Avon,_ Blake shouted, _I love you_ and felt an answering surge of emotion. Avon was fighting.

The cruel voice paused, then said, “You feel sexual desire for Blake/Avon.” 

“Yes,” Avon moaned, unable to deny a central part of his being. “Blake/Avon uses you for his pleasure.” That was true, and less than true, but in his confusion Avon was unable to deny it. “You hate being used.” That was also true, but Blake/Avon didn’t use Avon/ Blake. It wasn’t like that.

"No, it wasn’t," Orac said. "The Federation tried to make you hate each other. It is not true."

Avon could hear Orac far more clearly than Blake, but Avon needed Blake’s emotional strength. Pure logic was little use against the lies he’d been forced to believe. “No, it's not true," he said and felt Blake's whisper in Avon’s mind. _I love you._

The cruel voice said, “You are perverted.” Well, Avon had to admit that by his parents’ standards he was quite perverted. Not for loving someone of the same sex, but for loving at all. His mother and father had lived together for years in total disinterest, committing sex upon each other for the sole purpose of continuing a valuable blood-line. Even his name was the product of cold greed, and selfish ego, thus securing the inheritance of the original Kerr Avon. Was it any wonder he became a cold-blooded monster?

_Feel me, Avon,_ Blake sent with all his heart. _You are not a monster._ He remembered love with Avon, holding and caressing for hours, kisses sweet as wine, and oh, how wonderful to be joined with Avon, equally wonderful for them no matter who gave or who received. 

Avon heard. There was an outrush of denial from the other. The other did not think Avon was a monster. Sweet images of closeness flowed into Avon, visions of holding and being held, of enjoying the giving of pleasure even more than the receiving. Avon sighed. 

“NO!” The cruel one was back. “Romantic illusions. Sentiment is weakness. Trust is death. You trusted and you were betrayed. Blake/Avon abandoned you.” Avon cried out in denial, but the cruel voice could send images, too. Avon was sitting on a bench, waiting for Blake. They were going to do something important. He was reading a note Blake had sent him, asking him to meet in the park by the artificial oak tree. The note was short, but he reread it because it was signed, ‘Love always, Roj’ and he always liked to hear Roj say that. Black-clad guards came clattering up the plaza, and Avon stood up, wondering who had committed an offense great enough to call for an entire squadron. He was not afraid, as he had always been a loyal citizen. The Federation protected loyal citizens from terrorists and troublemakers. He was only curious. The men came right up to Avon, and he looked around for the traitor, puzzled, and becoming frightened. The first trooper hit Avon in the jaw with the butt of his weapon. Avon fell, protesting his innocence. They pulled him to his feet. One of them picked up Blake’s note, and crumpled the stiff paper. The paper separated into two layers, revealing a finely drawn diagram hidden under Blake’s note. They said it was part of a terrorist plot to blow up the water treatment plant, allowing radioactive wastes into the city systems. “No, it’s a mistake,” Avon protested. “I’ve done nothing.” Avon looked around wildly for someone to help him. He saw a familiar figure, half in the shadows just beyond the troopers. “Blake!” he called out in relief, “tell them. Tell them, it’s a mistake.” Blake looked at Avon, then turned away and vanished into the shadows. 

“He turned you in,” said the trooper/ cruel voice. “He’s nothing but rebel scum. And you thought he loved you?” 

"Blake does love you," Orac said. "The Federation is lying to you."

Blake struggled to get through, but he was fighting his own memories of the same scene, only he was the one who waited, and was betrayed. No, it’s not true. No. I love Avon.

“Blake loves me,” Avon shouted, “It’s a mistake.”

“Is this love?” the cruel voice asked and sent another scene directly into Avon and Blake’s minds. Avon was kneeling naked on a hard floor. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, and his mouth was gagged so that he could scarcely breathe past the coarse cloth. He was cold and frightened, and terribly alone. He twisted his head at the sound of a door opening, then shutting. A tall man stepped into the room. Blake! It would be all right, now. Blake was here. Blake loved him. Blake stripped off his clothes while gazing into Avon’s eyes with an oddly menacing stare. Avon tried to ask for help, but he could only make soft whining sounds. Blake stroked himself to full erection while looking at Avon. Avon made another protesting sound, deep in his throat. Blake chuckled then, “You are pathetic,” Blake said. “So eager to be loved, you will do anything. You begged me to take you. Well, why not? But it will be my way. Everything will always be my way, you whimpering little bitch.” Blake stepped closer, and pulled at Avon’s hair. “I own you. You gave yourself to me. I can do whatever I want with my property.” Blake dropped Avon’s head, and moved behind him. Avon tried to squirm away, but Blake grabbed Avon’s neck, and tied a length of rope around it. “No, bitch, you’re not going anywhere until I show you who’s the master.” Blake tied the rope to a heavy metal ring set in the floor. Avon couldn’t see what Blake was doing, but he heard rustling, snapping noises. Suddenly there was a ‘crack’ and he was driven to the floor by a heavy blow. His back burned, and he cried out again. The pain came again, and again, until Avon’s sobs were continuous, and he could not distinguish the new pains from the old ones. 

“Shut up!” Blake shouted and Avon tried desperately to mute his cries. He flinched as something heavy slapped into the floor before his eyes. He blinked the sweat and tears away and saw the object. It was a length of braided leather, glossy black, with inch-long jagged bits of metal interwoven, all discolored with blood, his blood. “I enjoyed that,” Blake whispered. “I like hurting you. I like seeing you bleed. And I like this.” Blake grabbed Avon around the waist, his hands slipping in blood, and held Avon still as he mounted his captive. Blake was very large, and very hard, and he forced all of himself into Avon at once.

Avon screamed through the gag, and Blake laughed. Avon was in agony, and Blake thrust harder, crooning obscenities in Avon’s ear. “My little Alpha. Thought you were so clever. Thought you could fight the Federation. You can’t even fight me. You were born to serve. Bred to service. So I’ll service you until you’re all used up. And then I’ll kill you. You’ll die with my cock up your arse. And I’ll love it. And so will you.”

“You like it, don’t you? You wouldn’t let the Federation rule you, but you were glad to have me on top of you. Changed your mind yet, pretty boy?” Blake grunted, and pulled Avon back hard, slamming his balls against Avon’s time after time. He reached under and began fondling Avon’s limp cock. “I want you to appreciate it. You need a master. You need me forcing you.”

Avon’s cock began to fill. The arousal grew. It was sick, and Avon wanted to vomit, but at the same time, his body craved the abuse. The pain still hurt, but it was twisting into something dark and evil, something seductive and irresistible. His cock arched up into Blake’s hard grip. His balls throbbed and jumped as Blake dug sharp fingernails into them. Blake kept talking while forcing himself back and forth in Avon, who spread his knees more and arched his back, making himself as accessible to Blake as he could. Blake said, “What a good little bitch. What a sweet little thing.” Blake kept growing inside Avon. He was enormous, bulging Avon’s cheeks and stretching Avon’s rectum beyond agony to a strange realm where pain was transmuted into ecstasy. Blake screamed suddenly, and clenched Avon hard against his groin, coming in hard, spurting jets of cum that burned like acid inside Avon. Avon felt himself eaten up, burned out hollow, and he pushed back against Blake, begging for more. In the midst of it all, Avon came, but he scarcely noticed, taken up with the sole thought of pleasing his master.

Blake pulled out, and Avon felt as if his guts had been ripped asunder. He lay there, choking, feeling the ropes coming off his hands, and the loop around his neck being removed. Blake took the gag out of Avon’s mouth, and stared down at him. “Well, what do you say?” Blake thundered, standing like a god above Avon.

Avon choked, swallowed, and whispered, “Thank you, master.” He crept forward on sore and bloody hands to kiss Blake’s feet.

"That never happened," Orac said. "The Federation told you this. It is not true. Is it?"

No, Blake shouted. He remembered this scene, being the master, torturing his lover. I didn’t do it, Avon. No, it was never like that! 

“No! It wasn’t like that!” Avon gagged with revulsion, and again he felt his emotions filtering through another body. “It wasn’t like that!”

"Remember Avon/Blake" Orac urged. "Remember the truth."

 

Avon lay back on sheets the color of a pine forest. He inhaled deeply. The sheets had been clean, but now they smelled of him and Blake. It did not offend his normally fastidious senses. He reached out, and pulled the large body beside him into closer proximity. “Again,” Avon growled.  
Blake opened one eye. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Avon said. 

“Prove it.” Blake rolled over flat on his back, taking most of the sheets with him.

Avon sat up and surveyed the territory. Blake was undeniably limp. Avon reached out and ran his fingers lightly along Blake’s prick; even deflated it was a generous length and he liked playing with it in all its stages. Blake’s gut moved sharply in response.

Avon chuckled, and turned to extract a small jar from the bedside dresser. Blake’s eyes opened. “That’s cheating,” Blake rumbled, as Avon’s fingers dug into the contents of the jar.

“As I recall, all is fair in love and war,” Avon replied, concentrating on making patterns on Blake’s skin with the unguent. He started at the broad, hairless chest, and meticulously worked his way down. By the time he reached Blake’s cock it was standing upright, and waving to catch his attention. Avon propped himself up on his elbows, and looked down into Blake’s large, luminous eyes. “Go on,” Blake growled.

“I don’t know,” Avon said idly, despite his own rapidly increasing respiration. “I should hate to take advantage of you.”

Blake laughed and pulled Avon down for a long kiss, both their erections kissing against each other as well. Eventually Blake released Avon. “You can’t take what’s freely given.”

“True.” Avon smiled and slid down Blake, rubbing his arse against a rather large prominence.

Blake dropped his head back against the pillows and moaned. “Kerr.”

It was a command, and it wasn’t. Avon accepted it. “Yes,” he said, sitting up and sliding back into place. “Freely given,” he murmured as he lifted himself, spread his legs, and grasped the warm fullness of Blake, coating it with lubricant before guiding that exquisite symbol of their love into himself. “Ahhh,” Avon purred as Blake thrust slightly then stilled. Avon slid down the slippery thickness, breathing harder with his own efforts at self-control. He seated himself on Blake’s groin, carefully distributing his weight over the broad, strong bones. 

Blake looked up at Avon’s smug little smile. “You’ve got me right where you want me.”

Avon grinned back. “I’m just enjoying the view from up here.” Avon clenched his buttocks. He rode Blake with increasing urgency, his hands gripping Blake’s, Blake’s knees drawn up to support Avon’s back. Blake was warm, and richly able to give. Avon greedily absorbed all Blake shared with him, and, to his astonishment, found himself giving just as generously back to Blake. They were so well suited to each other’s moods that even their arguments were arousing.

Blake was so warm, and generous. Avon tightened himself around Blake, asking for another donation, another proof of Blake’s love. Avon doubted, and needed reassurance. Blake accepted, and gave without stint. Blake trusted, and Avon followed in love. The sex was wonderful, but Avon would have stayed with Blake had they both been made eunuchs. Of course, being Avon, he would have found some way around the lack of equipment. But there was no need for substitutes, not when he had the real thing pumping up into him, so in rhythm with his own tempo that he fancied it was all an elaborate dance.

It was hot, and tight, and very nearly sensual perfection. It was also over too soon, and Avon collapsed atop Blake. “I’d like to try that in zero gravity,” Avon commented as Blake slipped out of him.

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Um.” He wrapped his arms around Avon, pulling the other more directly on top of himself. “Come the revolution.”

“Do I have to wait?”

“Well, it’s rather difficult to get off-world passes for purposes of carnal communion,” Blake replied. “Particularly when both communees are department heads of a vital project.”

Avon shook his head. “It seems a pity to sabotage the project,” he said, sounding wistful.

Blake shook Avon gently. “You’ve the heart of a pure scientist, Kerr. Only you know what harm the Federation could do if they possessed the secret of teleportation.”

Avon sighed against Blake’s shoulder. “I know. Troops appearing out of thin air, bombs in the hearts of crowded cities, innocents massacred in their beds,” he said, grinning at Blake, “and not-so-innocents.”

Blake smiled back, but became serious at once. He stroked Avon’s hair, and continued petting his lover as he said, “Yes, I know you’ve heard all my arguments before, and agreed with them. I hope I’m not boring you.”

“Not much,” Avon replied. He sighed. “Yes, corruption and abuse is spreading. Yes, it is up to the undrugged few with influence to combat the evil. Intellectually, I can agree. Emotionally, I am in violent disagreement with you. It is dangerous. I do not like risking you for any cause.”

“We are committed to avoiding violence. Civil disobedience, protests, passive suuunce, protests, passive support of outside elements that can put political pressure to bear; these will get the Federation’s attention. They will come to realize that it is simpler and more sensible to listen to us, to see that our protests are reasonable. There are honorable people yet in our government. We are still a nation of laws.”

Avon’s arms tightened around Blake. When Blake orated he exuded charisma. Avon was still unsure how it was accomplished, but he had decided it was instinctive and not deliberate. Besides arousing Avon carnally, it made him very protective. Under all his education, his skills, and his strength, Blake was an innocent. Blake did not believe in evil. Avon did. He’d met it early, in his own family. Power was all that mattered to some people, and those were the people who ruled. Blake thought they would be sensible, and calmly study the situation and see that drugging and torturing people wasn’t economical. Of course it wasn’t, but it fed power-hungry egos. “I hope you’re right,” he muttered into Blake’s neck. He fell asleep like that, his heart pressing against Blake’s, synchronizing the beats. Blake never minded the weight, or the sticky heat, and Avon craved the closeness. 

 

Avon woke abruptly, with bright glaring lights and a confusion of voices all around him. He was grabbed and pulled up. He reached out instinctively for Blake, but his arms were twisted behind his back and tightly secured. “What?” he asked, and was cuffed across the mouth. He came to full awareness then.

He was standing naked in Blake’s bedroom, Blake was beside him, and the two of them were prisoners. Guards held them up, and slapped them roughly into silence. Avon met Blake’s eyes, seeking reassurance and trying to conceal his own panic. Blake smiled at Avon, and was struck for that. Avon struggled against his captors, and received a few blows of his own. There was nothing they could do. They stopped fighting when they heard the door of the flat open. Another group of guards entered, parting to reveal a cold-faced, middle-aged man. He examined Avon and Blake coldly. “Traitors. Perverts. Rebel scum,” he said, but without passion. “If you were not needed on the Aquatar Project, you would both have been eliminated.” He scanned the flat. “I can understand it when Deltas rebel, but you? The two of you were given everything; every luxury imaginable was yours. The state even overlooked your moral deviance. Why did you do it?” This sounded almost honest. 

Blake straightened as best he could in the guards’ grip, and replied, “For the one luxury we are all denied. Even you cannot have it, for all your wealth and power.”

The man waited.

“Freedom,” Blake intoned, with all the longing and love that he’d ever felt for anything. “Not just the freedom for Avon and I to love each other, but the freedom of all men and women to live as they choose, where and how they choose, without coercion, or...” Blake was just getting into full cry when the man made an abrupt motion, and Blake’s guard knocked him unconscious.

The cold-faced man looked at Avon. “Have you any speeches of your own? Or are you just his catamite?”

Avon stood quietly, matching the other man’s coldness with his own. “I am Blake’s lover. I will also be his vengeance.”

The man laughed, but his smile died as Avon continued to stare at him. “I don’t think so. After we get through with you, you’ll hate the very sight of him.”

“Never,” Avon said calmly. “I know your techniques. They have their limits. You could never make me hate Blake. Love is stronger than that.” He disliked being sentimental, but as Blake wasn’t conscious to hear it, he said what he felt. “We will always be lovers.”

An exceptionally ugly smile grew on the cold man’s face. “I’ll have a word with the therapists. If you want perversion, that’s what you’ll get. Oh, you’ll hate him when we’re through with you, even if you still have sex together. We don’t care about that, but there’ll be no more conspiracies. No, you’ll both be loyal, hard-working citizens.” The man’s face hardened. “Sick bastards though you are, you will be useful.” He nodded toward Avon’s guard, and Avon followed Blake into the darkness.

***

"That is enough for this session," Avon heard Orac say. He took it as permission to stop fighting. He was lost in a maze of memories. Some were horrific scenes of imagined tortures that Blake committed on him. They were very bad, but they weren’t real. They brought back real memories, which were worse. He remembered now what he had done to Blake. Blake was right, Avon had hurt him, and enjoyed doing it. It hadn’t been just a kinky game. He had deliberately abused Blake. He had been conditioned to think of Blake as his torturer, and to seek revenge in kind. Blake must hate him now, he deserved to be hated. He didn’t deserve to live.

"No, Avon, you must not think that way. End the session!" Orac was upset. Why not? Avon was upset. If one cold computer could become emotional, why not the other? He kept seeing Blake’s face as Avon hurt him, as Avon salved his wounded ego by exerting his mastery over Blake. Blake had been hurt, too, but all Avon cared about was himself. He destroyed Blake. He didn’t want to see Blake hate him. He didn’t want to see anything again. He pulled handfuls of dark, cold nothingness and wrapped it around himself, and did his best to simply cease to exist. 

Blake came out of the trance abruptly. “Avon,” he said, and tried to get up. His legs gave out, and he found himself sitting on the recliner. He ripped the electrodes off and ran a hand over his eyes, shuddering. Cally was standing in front of him, holding a gun. He shook his head. “I’m all right. See to Avon.”

Cally searched Blake’s face briefly, then nodded . “Avon,” she said, gently, while removing the electrodes. “It is over, Avon. Wake up.”

Avon’s response was to shudder and draw his arms and legs up into a tight curl. “Avon? Avon, wake up.” Cally looked at Blake. “He is not responding. I do not think it will be wise to contact him telepathically.”

“No, don’t do that.” Blake got up. His legs were still weak, but he hardly noticed the shaking as he reached Avon’s side. “There were too many voices. He’s confused.” Confused. He wouldn’t thank me for telling Cally what’s really wrong. “Here. Sit up.” He urged Avon upright. It was difficult as Avon kept slipping through his grip.

Avon was still hiding when the cool hands came back, there were several tugs at his skin of his face, and a soft voice he thought he recognized as Cally’s. Cally wouldn’t understand. She would hate him too, for hurting her hero. He curled up into himself and the voice went away. It came back, and pulled at him. The voice was different, now. The hands pulling him up were bigger, and stronger. Avon pulled back, wanting to hide in that dark non-being a while longer.

“Avon! Dammit, come back to me!” Blake hauled at Avon, lifting him bodily. He sat on the recliner and pulled Avon into his lap. Damn what Cally thought of it. He felt Avon’s rejection and was suddenly afraid that Avon would succeed in hiding from them, from him, forever. “Avon,” he begged, “Don’t go away, Avon.” He wrapped Avon in his arms, trying to will love and security into the smaller figure huddled against him.

Avon didn’t believe it was Blake’s voice. It had to be a trick. Blake wouldn’t sound concerned, not about Avon. Avon felt himself lifted, and surrounded by warmth. Arms closed around him, and Avon suddenly realized he was trapped. The shock flung him out of the comfort of non-being, and he struggled his way to awareness.

Avon opened his eyes. Blake was holding him, holding his arms pressed down and bringing his mouth close to Avon’s. “No!” Avon screamed, frantically wriggling, striking out with knees, elbows, and clawing fingers. Blake released him and Avon tumbled to the floor, scrambling for shelter. One outflung hand hit a cold metal bar, a support for a table, and he squeezed himself underneath, shutting his eyes fiercely as he tried to recapture the black nothing.

Blake got down on his hands and knees to look at Avon. Avon’s eyes were clenched tightly shut, and his hands were white around the table leg. “Oh, Avon,” he whispered, pity and grief threatening to overwhelm him. Blake knew he was sane, and safe now, cured finally of the horrors implanted by the Federation, but the price seemed much too high. 

“I will get a sedative,” Avon heard Cally say. Avon tensed again, remembering the endless rounds of drugs, of experiments to achieve just the right response. He would die if they did that again, he would find some way to die.

"No," Orac said. "You will drive him irrevocably into shock."

Avon heard that. Orac was on his side. Orac was the only one who could stand Avon’s company. Blake said so. Blake... Avon began knocking his head against the table leg. It hurt. That was right, he’d hurt Blake, so now he should hurt himself. Gentle hands touched his arm, and he lunged to bite, then went back to the head-pounding when the hands removed themselves. 

“But we have to do something!” That was Blake. He never could let matters alone. Always had to worry about everyone, had to take care of everyone. Oh, Avon wished Blake could take care of him, but there was no way out, not now.

“He must follow your lead, willingly. You can not force him,” Cally said.

“How? I can’t even touch him!” The anguish in Blake’s voice was all Avon’s fault. He hit the table leg harder, and felt a little relief as skin split, and blood began trickling down his face.

“Avon, don’t!” Blake couldn’t stand it any longer. He crept under the table and put his arm between Avon’s head and the support leg.

“Go away,” Avon snarled, terrified of harming Blake. He tried to slam himself against the tried to slam himself against the metal again, but there was something soft between him and it. Something that grunted with pain when he hit it. “No,” Avon moaned. He curled up tight, putting his head between his knees. He couldn’t do anything right. He’d hurt Blake again. “I hurt you,” he cried.

“No, it’s all right,” Blake said. “Just calm down.” _At least he still knows I’m here. I have to get him away from the memories. I have to lead him home. For once, let me not misunderstand. Let me do the right thing._ He touched, gently brushing Avon’s back, then immediately lifted his hands. _I’ll be as gentle as you need, Avon. I’ll give you your freedom. Anything, anything. Only come back to me._

Avon felt a gentle patting on his back, and tensed. The hands lifted away. It had felt good. Tentatively, Avon shifted back. The hands brushed against him again, lightly, then fled again. Avon uncurled, and eased further back. Again a swift, reassuring touch which disappeared. Avon made a protesting sound, and loosened his grip on the metal leg, seeking the hands. This time the hands moved away more slowly, as if guiding him. He trembled, feeling terribly cold. The hands were warm. The hands were leading him to something warm. If he could only trust them. He remembered Blake’s hands, hurting and humiliating him. He flinched, but the hands did not snatch at him. They waited, patiently. Blake could be patient. 

A true-memory came back. He had eaten alone every day in the refectory of the Aquatar Project, rebuffing the few individuals who made social approaches. They were all seeking preferential treatment, either from him as head of department, or from Avon as the scion of an ancient Alpha line; no longer wealthy, but still influential. Avon ignored them all. All but Blake. Blake had showed up one day, and stood, patiently, holding his tray until Avon looked up and said, “Yes?” in his patented, freeze-your-blood, tone. Blake had smiled, and said, “Roj Blake, Head of Engineering. Mind if I join you?” Avon had been tempted to send Blake away, but he reconsidered. Blake had nothing to gain, and might serve to block further interruptions. So he let Blake stay. Every day Blake moved closer, under various pretexts. Avon still wasn’t sure how Blake maneuvered him into bed the first time. Oh, yes, Blake was patient. Avon sighed and let himself fall back against the arms, let himself be enfolded by them and drawn back against the flat, broad comfort of Blake’s chest. He panicked for an instant, but the arms loosened immediately, giving him the choice. To stay and be comforted, or to suffer alone. He stayed. He trembled, and his hands shook, and he could barely catch his breath for terror, but he stayed.

“Avon,” Blake said, softly, ruffling Avon’s hair with his breath. “Are you all right?” _Please. Be all right. I couldn’t bear to have destroyed you too._

“No,” Avon replied. “But I think I will be.” He took a few steadying breaths, then he opened his eyes, and turned his head. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m fine.” Blake summoned up a smile. 

Blake really did sound well. Avon sighed and snuggled back against Blake, not even caring that Cally was still there, watching. “I apologize for the histrionics.”

“That’s all right. You put up with mine long enough. It’s my turn to take care of you.” For as long as you’ll let me.

Avon was so tired. He turned slightly, adjusting himself against Blake’s angles and curves, resting his head against Blake’s shoulder. “Don’ need taking care of. Do all ri’ for mysel’.”

“Of course you do, Avon.”

Avon clung to Blake as he was picked up like a child. He blinked his eyes open when he heard a door open and saw they were out in the corridor. “Where?” he asked sleepily.

“My quarters. I’m going to put you to bed.”

“Shh. Not in front of Cally,” Avon murmured. He let himself go entirely then, falling asleep to the steady cadence of Blake’s boots.

"""

Avon woke up in Blake’s quarters, in Blake’s bed, in Blake’s arms actually. They were both naked. He blinked and shook his head, immediately regretting the action. His head ached. He put up a hand, and encountered a large bandage on his forehead. “Blake?”

“Yes?” Blake was already awake, judging by the swiftness of that response. Blake didn’t wake up alert, as Avon now recalled. He grunted, stretched, scratched, smacked his lips lip, and in general, recapitulated human evolution every morning. Avon let his eyes wander down the sheets, and he grinned at the other evidence of Blake’s morning primitivism. Avon suddenly remembered the previous evening. “Oh, hell,” he said, and began trying to extricate himself from Blake’s grip.

“What’s the matter?”

Avon succeeded in getting out of bed, and began searching for his clothes. Blake was also not neat. There was a scattered trail of garments leading to the bed, far more than two sets of garments. He found one black silk sock and put it on before it could get lost again. “I’ve got to get Orac, find out what went wrong. 

Blake was sitting up in bed, propped on one elbow. He looked amused as he watched Avon search, aristocratic nose wrinkled in distaste. Avon always had been fussy. “Nothing went wrong, according to Orac.” 

“You mean that Tarriel-cell terror knew how I would react?” Blake nodded and Avon went on, “Now I’m sure I need a talk with it.”

“Do you remember?”

Avon turned his back on Blake. “Yes,” he said softly. “You were right. I did abuse you. They hurt me so badly that I had to reclaim my manhood by degrading you. I am sorry.”

Blake could move swiftly, even in the mornings, if sufficiently motivated. He came around in front of Avon and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him once before releasing him. “No. That isn’t how it was. They hurt you so badly that you had to torture me. But you didn’t, Avon, you didn’t. Orac showed me what they did to you. You were meant to hate me so badly that you would destroy me, but you controlled yourself.” _We controlled ourselves. Was it defiance that made us reverse the roles they’d forced on us? I think perhaps it was._

“Oh, yes,” Avon laughed, the thin edge of hysteria creeping in, “I controlled myself so well.” Remembering ropes, and chains, pincers and clamps, he agreed; yes, he’d been so refined.

“Avon!” Blake’s hands were on Avon’s shoulders.Remember the safe-word? You always honored it. I’ve no scars from you. They twisted our relationship, but they couldn’t break it. I needed you and you needed me.Even if we were forced to play master-slave, there was love behind it.”

“You are incredible. I abused you, and you’re making it sound like star-crossed lovers having a tiff.”

“Oh, Avon.” Blake saw beneath the words. Avon wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t insane; he simply wanted to be difficult. Blake gave up the argument, and pulled Avon into a kiss. After an interminable delay of perhaps five seconds, Avon gave into it, and responded. Finally, they parted, and Blake looked down into Avon’s eyes. “Forgive yourself. I know that’s the hardest part, but you can do it.”

Avon sighed, and leaned against Blake. “How many more sessions?” _And will they all be as bad as that?_

Blake rubbed his chin on the top of Avon’s head. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

Avon growled.

Blake chuckled. “None. Orac said that as we had been conditioned together, we were able to break it down together, all at once. That’s why it hit you so hard. I’d already found out what it was like to have your world pulled apart, so I was able to ride with it. The barriers are gone. You’ll remember everything, in time. You’ll even remember how they blanked us again after the Aquatar Project failed.” Blake grew serious. “We couldn’t remember why, but we never tried our best. Even then we were rebelling. I know why I rebelled, but why did you, Avon?”

Avon thought about his answer, not wanting to encourage Blake too much. “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” He rubbed himself against Blake. “I liked the fringe benefits.” He began backing up toward the bed, but Blake pulled away.

“Avon, ” Blake said, shaking his head. “We haven’t time.” Avon frowned. “Kerr, I really should be on watch,” Blake tried. Avon glared. “Kerr Avon!” Blake shouted. 

Avon flopped onto the bed, and pouted. “I may turn in my rebel membership card.” He waved his one socked foot in the air.

Blake began sorting through the clothes on the floor. “We’re only three days away from Freedom City.” He found a baggy-sleeved shirt and pulled it on.

Avon sighed, and his voice was flat, “So, we’re back to that, are we? Blow up the universe to save the universe.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Are you with me?” Blake located a pair of dark brown trousers and tugged them on.

Avon lifted his head to glare at Blake. “Are you going to continue being a thick-headed, stubborn, unrealistic idealist?”

“I’m afraid so.” Blake’s socks were crammed into his boots, so they were easy to find. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to stay around. Someone has to keep you in hand. Of course,” he said, plaintively, “it would be a little easier if I knew exactly what you were planning ahead of time.”

Blake said, “All right. I’ll tell you.” He moved closer to the door. “We’re going to find Star One.”

Avon nodded, grimly. 

“And when we do...”

“Yes?”

“I want to see what you and Orac can do with it.”

Avon looked into Blake’s eyes, catching the grin growing there. He sat up. “You mean it?”

Blake nodded. He liked the look on Avon’s face. Like a child offered the best toy in the whole world. Not quite believing it yet, but still hoping it’s true.

“You’d trust me with ultimate control over the universe?"

“Of course. I could always stop you if you got carried away.”

“You think you could,” Avon said, trying to glare out of habit, but failing to hold the grimness.

“I know it. All I have to do is say the word.” Blake paused for effect, then he said,“Excaliber” and darted out of the door just ahead of the pillow Avon threw at him. He chuckled, and headed for the flight deck. Avon would follow any minute. No, Avon will join me. No more will we be the ‘Fearless Leader’ and his ‘Reluctant Follower’. He had something much better than mastery over Avon. He had Avon’s heart.

He had Avon’s heart.


End file.
